Artigos de revistas sobre o tema "Boswell Collection for the History of Cartography"

Two research projects are in progress at the University of Western Ontario in the area of lunar and planetary cartography. The first addresses a problem unique to space exploration, the mapping of bodies with extremely irregular shapes. Shapes are determined by modifying a triaxial ellipsoid until its limb and terminator reproduce those seen in all available images, given appropriate orientation and lighting. Morphographic map projections are used for maps of such bodies. The second project involves documenting the history of lunar and planetary cartography, supported by bibliographic research and collection of contemporary maps. Part of this work involves identifying very old lunar maps. Possible examples include rock carvings 4500 years old from Knowth, Ireland and sections of medieval mappaemundi.

<p><strong>Abstract.</strong> The emotions, in its broadest sense, have been the subject of anthropological, sociological, and cultural studies among geographers. The “mapping impulse” has been also an essential element and a major force in many disciplines and fields.</p><p>Historically, the mapping has imposed not only physical but also imagined boundaries, imposing “the power-knowledge” relations on the landscape and its communities. At the same time, looking at the history of cartography, the visual vocabulary of conventional maps has been used to interpret various facets of the human psyche, for instance in the case of the late Renaissance “sentimental cartography”.</p><p>The concept of 'Emotional Geographies' has been adopted by geographers as 'a concern with the spatiality and temporality of emotions' (Davidson J, 2007). Hence, emotions have been acknowledged not as individualized, but as intersubjective – social and cultural.</p><p>Although the geospatial technologies have acquired more humanized characteristics since the mid 1990‘s (Pickles, 1995), such as mapping feelings (Pocock, D. 1984) and emotional responses to space (Gartner, 2012), the cartography has been facing challenges regarding of data collection and representation of emotions (Griffin &amp; McQuoid, 2012). Therefore, little cartographic efforts have been made in that direction due to the challenges in data collection and representation of emotions. (Griffin &amp;amp; McQuoid, 2012).</p><p>As such, “turned” not only by the affective topographic or non-spatial elements, but also the critical theory, “Emotional Mapping”, as an additional concept in cartography, goes beyond the georeferenced emotional states in a certain geographic area. This reflexive methodology combines technology, science and art, theory and practice, and, as Nold argues, enables “Reflection-In-Action”, and new social relations. But, the way in which it creates a tangible vision of places as a dense multiplicity of personal sensations, which we are not normally aware of, is its most significant aspect (Nold, 2009). Further to new psychology-based approaches to affect and emotion, and how maps make us feel (Griffin &amp;amp; McQuoid, 2012), alternative approaches from cartography, social theory and art, demonstrate how maps are meaningful. In such scholarship environment, the co-creation of “Emotional Mapping” has a potential by drawing on “Emotional Cartography” techniques, and exploring the ways in which emotional responses might be sensed, captured, represented, analysed, and used in various cross-disciplinary projects.</p>

In the 1920s, the Palestinian ethnographer Tawfiq Kan‘an examined the physical and narrative construction of Palestinian space by cataloguing the living archive of Palestinian sanctuaries. His collection of narratives, imbued in the sacred space of the “shrine, tomb, tree, shrub, cave, spring, well, rock [or] stone” is suggestive of cultural anthropologist Keith Basso’s elaboration of “place-making” as learned from the Western Apache. Articulating two modes of disruption, place-making narratives preserve indigenous culture in the face of colonial conquest and unsettle colonial paradigms of spatial belonging and exclusion. Despite the efforts of settler colonial erasure, this interpolative practice has been carried through Palestinian narrative traditions into the present. Raja Shehadeh’s Palestinian Walks: Notes on a Vanishing Landscape (2007) illustrates an indigenous mode of seeing, creating, and contesting spatial narratives, disclosing the role of place-making in contemporary Palestinian literature.

Abstract. Founded by Romans, Vimercate had an important geographical position in Lombardy. Layers of history are visible throughout the town, yet there is the inconsistency of historical data and neglect of the historical centre in the past decades. Only recently researchers and professors from Politecnico di Milano pointed out the importance of studying layers of history in the built environment. In the past years, Vimercate was used as an example for students from masters and bachelor courses in preservation studios. This is where the idea for the master’s thesis was developed which focuses on the collection, digitalisation and investigation of primary historical cartography and then other historical documents. Historical cartography can offer extensive knowledge about the past of this town and it is one of the main sources of information. For the creation of the project was selected free and open-source software QGIS where the selected historical maps were vectorised, compared and investigated. A new understanding of the development of the city was studied and some discoveries appeared. Effective application of the thesis project started in the courses of Architectural preservation studio at Politecnico di Milano. This was followed by the interest of citizens in the project who were actively participated in the creation of the same. Other stakeholders showed interest in involving in future developments. The thesis found its application in didactic activities of students and pupils.

The article is observed the archeological activity of the native of German colony of Sarata in Budzhak and the author of first excavations of the barrows of this region, Professor F. I. Knauer. Fedor (Friedrich) Ivan Knauer (1849—1917) graduated the Sarata Teachers College (1865). He studied linguistics, Sanskrit and German at the Universities of Jena and Tubingen, graduated the University of Derpt (1882) where he defended his doctoral thesis (1884). After that he worked at St. Vladimir University in Kiev as Professor of the Department of Comparative Linguistics and Sanskrit (from 1886 to 1915). He participated the XI Archaeological Congress in Kiev (1899), XIII (1902, Hamburg) and XVI (1912, Athens) international congresses of orientalists. The scholar engaged in archaeology under the influence of members of the Historical Society of Nestor the Chronist, in particular Professor V. B. Antonovich. One of his tasks was to gather the collection for the creation of the archaeological museum at St. Vladimir’s University. The fieldwork of the scholar in 1888—1889, 1891, and 1899 are described in the paper. During these works he examined 11 barrows on the banks of the rivers Sarat and Kogylnik and found 75—77 graves which were compiled to the chrono-stratigraphic column of burials from the Eneolithic to the Middle Ages. In the special annex to the paper the materials of research of the author of 2018 were revealed, during which the state of the majority of thebarrows of F. I. Knauer was discovered and some of which are proposed to be excavated

This article is part of the research developed in 2022 in the Cultural Heritage Preservation and Management Program of Casa de Oswaldo Cruz/Fiocruz. It aimed to investigate the phenomenon of dispersion in people’sarchives deposited in memory spaces. To analyse, we had as object of study Rubim Santos Leão de Aquino’s archives(1929-2013), history professor, whose collection was fragmented into parcels and destined todifferent entities, such as the Study Program, Documents Education and Society –Proedes, from the Federal University of Rio de Janeiro. To achieve this purpose, we carried out an exploratory study on the dispersion in people's archives, collected the biographical data of the producer and the archives, identified the actors involved and listed the destination criteria. The result achieved was the mapping of the places that received the documentation with the elaboration of the collection's dispersion cartography.

his article is devoted to analysis the theme of the “scholar’s study” in Netherland XVII century painting. The reason for the rise of this theme is closely related to the great development of science and navigation in the XVII century in Netherland. Under the economic development, the tradition of collecting prevails among scholars. People admire knowledge and work on scientific inquiry. The author analyzes Gerrit Dou’s self-portrait The Artist’s studio and the symbolic meanings of objects in the painting. The author states that his self-portrait portrays himself as a scholar, reflecting the social ethos of worshiping knowledge. The specificity of his work, the themes of the scholar’s study, the influence of science, religion, philosophy on the painting of Gerrit Dou, the symbolic meanings of objects surrounding the scientist are considered. Jan van der Hayden’s paintings Still Life with a Globe, Books, Sculpture and Other Objects reflect the wide-ranging style of the collection at that time, reflecting both the worship of religion and the abundance of Netherland foreign products under the background of the great geographical discovery in the XVII century. During this period, establishment of Netherland universities and advent of the maritime age encouraged a thriving cartography producing. A large number of globes and scientific tools appeared in the paintings. They not only have religious meaning, but also show the progress of the new era. Audience can get a glimpse of the characteristics of a typical Netherland scholar’s collection from his paintings. The purpose of this article is to analyze the scientific progress, social development of the Netherlands. This allows you to take a fresh look at the assessment of creativity on the theme of the scholar’s study. To fulfill that purpose, need to complete following tasks: to characterize the specifics of paintings in the themes of the scholar’s study, to reveal the symbolism in the paintings The Artist’s studio by Gerrit Dou, Still Life with a Globe, Books, Sculpture and Other Objects and A Corner of a Room with Curiosities by Jan van der Hayden, to show the close connection between the development of science in the 17th century and the topic of the scientist’s office. The author concludes that the theme of the “scholar’s study” in Netherland XVII century paintings reflect the collection characteristics and aesthetics in the XVII century.

The city of Ephesus experienced a marked civic transformation in Late Antiquity. After having centered its settlements and economic fortunes on its proximity to a deep-water harbor for over a millenium, late antique Ephesus gradually shifted to an inland, fortified settlement on Ayasoluk Hill. While several factors undoubtedly informed this civic reorientation, the most commonly cited impetus for Ephesus’s late antique reorientation was the infilling of its deep-water harbor. This article argues that, in addition to this environmental cause, an important cultural shift correspondingly informed Ephesus’s late antique reconfigurations. Namely, the emergence and development of the tomb of John on Ayasoluk Hill, informed by an array of literary legends associating the apostle with the city, increasingly positioned this site as a cultic and economic focal point in Late Antiquity. This article argues that an important early strand in this cultural fabric was the Acts of John, a collection of apocryphal tales that narrate John’s exploits in Ephesus. Significantly, the Acts of John articulates a “counter-cartography” that disassociates Christian identity from prominent Ephesian cultic sites and accentuates the importance of spaces “outside the city” of Ephesus, including and especially the tomb of John. Through its own circulation as well as its influence on later Johannine narratives, the early Acts of John helped inform a shift in the cultural cartographies of Ephesus, where Greco-Roman polytheistic spaces were gradually devalued in favor of Christian sites, the tomb of John on Ayasoluk chief among them.

Abstract. The representation of the areas in which some of the most significant events of the First World War took place has produced a wide range of materials, such as cartography, aerial and terrestrial photos, textual descriptions and field surveys. In addition, war events were also represented through three-dimensional models. Topographic maps and models constitute composite figurations, which are rich in informative data useful for the preservation of the memory of places and for increasing the knowledge of cultural heritage. Hence, these sources need to be studied, described, interpreted and used for future enhancement. The focus of this paper are archival materials from the collections kept at the Italian War History Museum of Rovereto (Museo Storico Italiano della Guerra), in the Trentino-Alto Adige region. Firstly, we will investigate the cartographic fond in order to assess the composition and origin of its materials. Secondly, we will present the Museum’s collection of Early-Twentieth Century models. Such precious heritage is not yet part of an exhibition, and is kept in the Museum’s warehouses. The paper constitutes the occasion to present the initial results of a still ongoing project by the Geo-Cartographic Centre for Study and Documentation (GeCo) of the University of Trento on the study and analysis of two archival complexes preserved in the abovementioned Museum. In particular, the paper focuses on the heuristic value of such representational devices, which enable an analysis of the different methods and languages through which space is planned and designed, emphasizing the complementarity between different types of visualization.

With the development of computers and digital technologies in the second half of the XX century, new tools, and methods for analyzes appear. Among them are Geographic Information Systems (GIS), which benefit various fields including History. The analytical part of the GIS differs from classical Cartography concentrated on presentation information, and while regular maps are still developed, the amount of spatial analyzes rises. The Historical GIS (HGIS) operates as an interdisciplinary subfield using the historical approach to data collection and reviewing and the geographical methods of data processing and visualization. GIS software is a powerful tool to build and analyze spatial databases, yet it has its limitations and requirements for data. The archival sources are in analog form, with different levels of accuracy, and often incomplete, which calls for additional effort in data processing and reviewing, and information cross-checking. Overcoming those challenges, the outcome of HGIS is significant and enforces historical research. The following paper describes the GIS as a tool in historical studies. It outlines the development of GIS and HGIS and their origins in spatial analyzes conducted manually, their key features, functions, requirements, and challenges. Later the paper presents the practical application of HGIS, on an example of the research project, that analyzes the morphological development of post-socialist cities. By summarizing the methodology used to build a GIS database points out the process of data collection, reviewing, and processing. It describes the main cartographic sources and their characteristics that outline the challenges in using HGIS.

This article analyses the Spanish contribution to the exploration and charting of the South Pacific at the time of Captain James Cook. The article focuses on three expeditions conducted in the Age of Enlightenment, reflecting certain changes in the discourse of exploration and dissemination of knowledge. Captain Don Felipe González de Ahedo arrived on Easter Island in 1770, claimed it in the name of the Spanish crown and, with the help of his navigator Juan Hervé, conducted detailed charting of the island. Hervé would play a key role in the next two expeditions sent to the South Pacific by the Viceroy of Peru, Manuel de Amat y Junyent. The two expeditions led by Domingo de Bonechea Andonaegui in 1772–73 and 1774–75 explored and charted Tahiti and the Tuamotu Archipelago. As a result of the expeditions, apart from comprehensive travel logs, a series of some ninety charts appeared, documenting the achievements of Spanish maritime cartography of the South Pacific. In this article, interaction between Spanish and other explorative cartographers will be considered, giving special regard to the influence of Cook. The article presents the Spanish manuscript charts of the South Pacific that are kept in the State Library of New South Wales (Somaglia Collection), the Real Academia de la Historia (Madrid), the Archivo General de Indias (Seville), the Museo Naval de Madrid and Biblioteca Nacional de Chile.

W historii polskiej kartografii można wskazać momenty, kiedy pod wpływem zewnętrznego impulsu, zazwyczaj wywołanego sytuacją społeczno-polityczną, znacząco rosła liczba twórców map i ich wydawców. Nie był to stan długotrwały, epizodyczni autorzy próbujący wpłynąć na konkretne wydarzenie nie wiązali się długofalowo z kartograficzną formą przekazu, a oficyny poszerzały swoją ofertę o mapy wyłącznie z potrzeby chwili. Jednym z takich momentów był przełom XIX i XX w. Celem artykułu jest scharakteryzowanie map wydanych z myślą o kształtowaniu wiedzy o dawnych ziemiach polskich masowego odbiorcy z tych terenów w końcu XIX i na początku XX w. przechowywanych w Archiwum Narodowym w Krakowie. Postawiono tezę, że mapy tematyczne, których treść wychodziła poza oficjalny, narzucony przez zaborców schemat myślenia społecznego, wpływały na lepsze rozumienie przez mieszkańców dawnych ziem polskich idei i procesu kształtowania polskiej państwowości. Podejmując próbę potwierdzenia tej tezy, odniesiono się do faktu, że mapa jako jedna z form komunikacji wizualnej z jednej strony obrazuje zasięg geograficzny i relacje przestrzenne, z drugiej pomaga podtrzymać poczucie tożsamości narodowej, kiedy przedstawienie granic i obszaru, z którym dana społeczność się identyfikuje, jest niemożliwe lub niejednoznaczne. W artykule wykorzystano źródła kartograficzne pochodzące z kolekcji kartograficznej systematycznie gromadzonej przez Archiwum Narodowe w Krakowie. Maps outside social thinking. A few thoughts after an inquiry in the cartographic collection of the National Archives in Krakow In the history of Polish cartography, it is possible to indicate moments that, under external influences, usually created by the social-political situation, there was a significant increase in the number of map creators and publishers. This was not a long-lasting state, as the authors trying to influence particular events were not connected with cartography in the long term, and publishers extended their offers with maps exclusively for the needs of the moment. One such moment was the turn of the 19th and 20th centuries. The aim of the article is to characterize the maps issued at the end of the 19th century and beginning of the 20th century with the idea of shaping knowledge of the masses regarding former Polish lands, stored in the National Archives in Krakow. It presents the thesis that thematic maps, with content outside the official line of social thinking imposed by the partitioning powers, led to a better understanding by inhabitants of former Polish lands of the idea and process of shaping the Polish state. Attempting to confirm this thesis, reference is made to the fact that a map as a form of visual communication depicts the geographical range and spatial relations on one hand, while on the other it helps to maintain a feeling of national identity when presenting borders and regions, which a given society identifies with, is impossible or inconclusive. The article uses sources from the cartographic collection systematically gathered by the National Archives in Krakow.

Tropical Materialisms concur on at least three things: humans are always entangled with non-human/material agents; such entanglement is necessary for any creative act to take place; and these same entanglements allow us to interrogate and re-evaluate preconceived notions about the world. This Special Issue aligns itself with the fields of new materialism and posthumanism. What is particularly exciting is the opportunity to rearticulate these fields in tropical terms, that is, with scholarly and creative practices from and about the tropical world. This focus is crucial given that current scholarship in new materialism and posthumanism predominantly comes from European temperate contexts and is informed by Western philosophies. In order to decolonize the ontological turn, this Special Issue recognises not only that colonial knowledge systems impacted the tropics, but also that matter’s liveliness was and is well understood in Indigenous cosmologies, ancient philosophies and ‘animist materialism’. The papers collected together in this special issue offers materialisms informed by decolonizing intuitions. They variously demonstrate how the tropics, as geographic zone and as pertaining to poetics (via "tropes"), can theoretically inform and historically problematise new materialism and posthumanism. They offer new vocabularies through which discourses on "tropical materialism" may be initiated; and a cartography of practices across disciplinary fields which demonstrate what this "tropical materialism" may be. The Special Issue collection it itself a form of poiesis: a creative engagement with the world.

The genus Antodice Thomson, 1864 was revised by Martins & Galileo (1998) and currently includes 27 species (Tavakilian & Chevillotte 2017), distributed from Mexico to southern South America. Based on a single female specimen collected in Arroyo Cristal, Ka'azapá, Paraguay, the species Antodice quadrimaculata was first described by Martins & Galileo in 2003. The holotype specimen was collected on 20 November 1999 by J. Jensen and is deposited in the Museum of Zoology of the University of São Paulo, Brazil. With the help of Carlos Aguilar, from Paraguay’s National Museum of Natural History, we were able to determine the exact location where the holotype was collected. With the collection and the description of the male, presented herein, we describe the male of this species record its occurrence in Brazil, a new country record.We identified this species as belonging to the group of Antodice species with yellowish flagellomeres and a black apex, resembling Antodice venustula Lane, 1973 in its elytral color pattern. In A. venustula, the elytra are covered with whitish pubescence and exhibit only two patches of compact white pubescence. In A. quadrimaculata, according to Martins & Galileo (2003), the elytra are of a reddish color with whitish pubescence on the dorsal anterior area and close to the apexes, and they also have three patches of compact white pubescence. The specimens of A. quadrimaculata cited herein were collected in the Iguaçu National Park (Parque Nacional do Iguaçu—PNI), the largest fragment of Atlantic forest in southern Brazil, located in the western region of the state of Paraná. The insects were collected using light traps, set up on nights with a new moon. The artificial light source was a 500-Watt incandescent lamp powered by a Honda EP 2500 generator. Sampling began at 6 p.m., ending between midnight and 3 a.m. the next day. The studied material was deposited in the entomological collection of the Museum of Zoology at the State University of Londrina (Universidade Estadual de Londrina), Londrina, Brazil (MZUEL). To better represent the expansion of the geographical distribution of the species from the holotype recorded in Paraguay (Fig. 5, 6), the cartographic material (Fig. 1) was produced using ArcGIS Software 9.0®. The map database was obtained from the Institute of Land, Cartography and Geosciences, (Instituto de Terras, Cartografia e Geologia do Paraná), Curitiba, Brazil (ITCG).

The paper will present the results of a research project „A methodology for mapping movable heritage”. This project, financed by the Polish Ministry of Science and Higher Education in 2008-2010, was realized by the Institute of Geodesy and Cartography in cooperation with the Research and Academic Computer Network (portal Polska.pl), the Central Archives of Historical Records and Department of Art History of the Wroclaw University. The idea of the project was to simplify access to digital movable cultural heritage by the use of spatial information. The main aspect of the project was to use a Geographic Information System (GIS) - as a technology and as a tool - to integrate different digital collections, present their content in one space and provide online access to them from one common level – from an online map. The essence of the research was to present on the online map movable monument as multi-spatial object. The base of this assumption is that most of monuments, especially movable ones, can have several places in the geographical space that are connected with them (several various space relations). As a rule archival documents were created in one place, describe the other, today can be kept in places far away from the place they were prepared, and what more the parts of the same collection can be kept in different archives. Moreover, one single document can be connected or have relations (typological, thematically, temporal, spatial) with other relations to the same or the other one. The reason for it is that documents concerning various places are housed in the same archive, various documents can present the same place or the place of creating particular document can be the place of housing another. In the project the basic source material was digital collections of original records. Their metadata defined in the international standards of monuments’ description were used for connecting digital monuments with the geographic space. With the use of these standards, the Internet application for presenting cultural heritage on the map was developed. It can be found at www.GEOHeritage.polska.pl (Polish version) and www.GEOHeritage.poland.pl (English version). The application is based on the Geographic Information System (GIS), and its functionality is mainly the elements of selecting the resources, presenting the documents on the map in different ways and finding their images. The paper will present methodological solutions necessary for building on-line map of movable heritage together with the functionality of the application.

Os mapas históricos preservam informações geográficas sobre a ocupação humana, a expansão urbana e as transformações ambientais ao longo da história. Nesta perspectiva, efetuamos a coleta, catalogação, descrição e interpretação de mapas do sítio urbano da cidade do Rio Grande, a fim de investigar a expansão urbana desde a fundação em 1737 até 2017. No presente estudo foram analisados oito produtos cartográficos representativos da expansão do núcleo central urbano da cidade do Rio Grande, foi utilizado desde documentos cartográficos históricos do século XVIII até as imagens de satélite da atualidade, buscando identificar a área urbana e suas transformações. As análises mostraram uma expansão urbana em função do crescimento demográfico propiciado pelas atividades militar, portuárias e industriais, que provocaram profundas alterações na geomorfologia original do pontal. Adicionalmente, a condição fisiográfica é um dos maiores desafios para a expansão urbana do Rio Grande, novas porções de terrenos continuam sendo incorporados ao urbano através de aterros das áreas inundáveis por particulares, nas margens da Lagoa do Patos e Saco da Mangueira. E os projetos formalizados, oriundos do Poder Público, no passado promoveram as principais mudanças ambientais como, por exemplo, os aterros na área do porto, mas atualmente os projetos utilizam de áreas regularizadas. Favorecendo o adensamento urbano. A expansão urbana da cidade aconteceu em resposta à necessidade de desenvolvimento frente aos diversos ciclos econômicos de sua história, alterando a fisiografia do pontal arenoso para atender as demandas socioeconômicas de cada período. Historical Cartography of the City of Rio Grande / RS: Urban Expansion between 1737 and 2017 A B S T R A C THistorical maps preserve geographic informations of human occupation, urban sprawling and environmental transformations throughout history. In view of this, was performed a map collection, cataloging, description and interpretation of the urban site of the city of Rio Grande, in order to investigate urban sprawling and environmental transformations since its foundation in 1737 to 2017. In this study, eight cartographic products were analyzed, representative of the Urban Core sprawl in Rio Grande, used from historical cartographic documents of the eighteenth century to the satellite images of today, attempt to identify the urban area and its transformations. The analyzes showed an urban expansion due to the demographic growth provided by military, port and industrial activities, which caused profound changes in the original geomorphology of the cape. In addition, the physiographic condition is one of the major challenges for the urban expansion of Rio Grande, new portions of land continue to be incorporated into the urban through landfills of flooded areas by individuals, on the shores of Patos Lagoon and Saco da Mangueira. In contrast formalized projects from the government have, in the past, promoted greatest environmental modifications, such as landfills in the Port area, but currently, the projects use regularized areas which supports urban densification. The urban sprawl of the city occurred in response to the need for development in the face of the many economic cycles of its history, changing the sandy ape physiography to better serve the socioeconomic demands of each period.Keywords: Map, Historical Record, Urban Sprawl.

RETHINKING HISTORY, SCIENCE, AND RELIGION: An Exploration of Conflict and the Complexity Principle by Bernard Lightman, ed. Pittsburgh, PA: University of Pittsburgh Press, 2019. ix-307 pages, with notes, selected bibliography, and index. Hardcover; $50.00. ISBN: 9780822945741. *First some background to the making of Rethinking History, Science, and Religion. This edited collection by Bernard Lightman, Professor of Humanities at York University, Toronto, Canada, and past president of the History of Science Society, is the product of a two-day symposium on "Science and Religion: Exploring the Complexity Thesis," during the International Congress of History of Science and Technology in Rio de Janeiro in 2017. One can consider this to be a companion volume to The Warfare between Science and Religion: The Idea That Wouldn't Die, edited by Jeff Hardin, Ronald L. Numbers, and Ronald A. Binzley (Johns Hopkins University Press, 2018).1 *In one way, Rethinking History, Science, and Religion is a focused and daring work. It asks a fundamental question directed at much of contemporary historiography in the field of science-religion relations: if science and religion are not perpetually in conflict, as ever so many historians have claimed over the past fifty years, is complexity a better, if not the best, way to recount the relationship between science and religion? Complexity is the solution first proposed by John H. Brooke in his now classic 1991 text, Science and Religion: Some Historical Perspectives (Cambridge University Press).2 In fact, Lightman dedicates his edited book to John H. Brooke, the leading proponent of complexity. *But what does the "complexity thesis" add to our discussion? Is it really a thesis? Is it a principle? Does it explain or does it rather describe the situatedness and contingency of the science-religion relationship, its cartography, as David Livingstone might say? Is its sole positive feature to discourage us from making facile assumptions about the relationship between science and religion? Or does it simply add another c-word to our vocabulary: complexity instead of contrast, concordance, compatibility, conflict, conversion, complementarity (or harmony)? Brooke has famously said, "There is no such thing as the relationship between science and religion. It is what different individuals and communities have made of it in a plethora of different contexts" (p. 321, italics original, Science and Religion). That statement certainly invites one to consider a complexity thesis. *Although the role of complexity has been a conversation topic for several years,3 Lightman wants to gauge the current "pulse of the field." He wishes contributors to test the "complexity principle" in scholarly contexts other than the usual Christian West (often seen as Europe and the USA/Canada), as well as in public spaces. This move invites an additional question: will the complexity thesis be able to provide a coherent narrative, or will it merely give us one contextualized example after another with no perceptible trend to bind them together? If there are many complex stories to tell, then it seems that a master-narrative or pattern would be a pipedream at best. *After an introduction by Bernard Lightman, the book is divided into three sections: Part I: The Local and the Global; Part II: The Media and the Public; and Part III: Historiographies and Theories. The book concludes with "Afterword: The Instantiation of Historical Complexity," written by John Hedley Brooke. *Part I contains four chapters ranging from a local context (chap. 1, "The Stigmata of Ancestry: Reinvigorating the Conflict Thesis in the American 1970s," by Erika Lorraine Milam), to more global ones (chap. 2, "Three Centuries of Scientific Culture and Catholicism in Argentina: A Case Study of Long-Term Trends," by Miguel de Asúa; chap. 3, "Reexamining Complexity: Sayyid Ahmad Khan's Interpretation of 'Science' in Islam," by Sarah A. Qidwai; and chap. 4, "Christian Missionaries, Science, and the Complexity Thesis in the Nineteenth-Century World," by John Stenhouse). *Each of these chapters addresses the complexity thesis with a different focus. Erika Milam argues that the supposed conflicts between science and religion "gained rhetorical traction" by both scientific creationists and die-hard evolutionists because they both denied the complexity of their own origins. Irven DeVore's studies of primate behavior is used as a template to test that thesis. Miguel de Asúa identifies three trends in Argentinean scientific culture: (1) colonial period harmony, (2) nineteenth-century conflict, and (3) twentieth-century indifference. Sarah A. Qidwai calls us to carefully consider the interpretation of science in Islam rather than by Islam in the 1865 self-published commentary by Sayyid Ahmad Khan (1817-1898). John Stenhouse examines whether Ronald Numbers's suggestion that we introduce some mid-scale patterns (or generalizations) such as "naturalization, privatization, secularization, globalization and radicalization," aids us in understanding the complexity of science/religion relationships in the nineteenth century. Stenhouse concludes that a study of missionary science outside the West complicates Numbers's attempt to "simplify complexity," and does not do justice to missionary practices well into the twentieth century. *Part II contains five chapters examining the role of the media and public response to science/religion discussions and events: chap. 5, "Creating a New Space for Debate: The Monthlies, Science, and Religion," by Bernard Lightman; chap. 6, "Darwin's Publisher: John Murray III at the Intersection of Science and Religion," by Sylvia Nickerson; chap. 7, "The 'Harmony Thesis' in the Turkish Media, 1950-1970," by M. Alper Yalçinkaya; chap. 8, "A Humanist Blockbuster: Jacob Bronowski and the Ascent of Man," by Alexander Hall; and chap. 9, "Teaching Warfare: Conflict and Complexity in Contemporary University Textbooks," by Thomas H. Aechtner. *In summary, these chapters illustrate how insights from the study of print culture, communications studies, and visual studies have broadened our more "familiar grooves" of explanation and deepened our understanding of science and religion. *Part III is to my mind the most stimulating section, one in which some of the leading historians of science and religion present (their) historiographies and theories. It contains four chapters: chap. 10, "Revisiting the Battlefields of Science and Religion: The Warfare Thesis Today," by Ronald Numbers; chap. 11, "From Copernicus to Darwin to You: History and the Meaning(s) of Evolution," by Ian Hesketh; chap. 12, "Scale, Territory, and Complexity: Historical Geographies of Science and Religion," by Diarmid A. Finnegan; and chap. 13, "Conflict, Complexity, and Secularization in the History of Science and Religion," by Peter Harrison.4 *Focusing on two of the chapters: In a relatively short chapter (a "brisk survey" of eight pages), Numbers explores the factors that contribute to the continued support of the warfare thesis and the "growth of the opposing neo-harmonist point of view" (p. 183). Contemporaries such as Carl Sagan, Francis Crick, Stephen Hawking, William Provine, the New Atheists, and Christian and Muslim fundamentalists such as Ken Ham and Adnan Oktar are considered. Numbers chides scholars who legitimately question the warfare thesis but often do not address popular audiences. *Peter Harrison argues that we need to make complexity intelligible. Although historians are often averse to meta-narratives, he considers them to be both "unavoidable and indispensable." Harrison defends the utility of a master-narrative, at least something that rises above mid-scale patterns (such as those suggested by Ronald Numbers). He appeals to Charles Taylor's view of secularization as one way to begin to address the relation between science and religion. Taylor, for instance, distinguishes between science as cause of religious disbelief and science as a retrospective justification for it. Secularization involves a change in the conditions of belief which Taylor contributes to transformations within Western Christianity.5 *In "Afterword: The Instantiations of Historical Complexity," John Hedley Brooke reflects on each of the contributed chapters. He provides a concise judgement about complexity: "Understood neither as a thesis competing with other theses nor as a prescription to seek out complexity for its own sake, but as a heuristic guiding principle for a critical research methodology, it ceases to be trivial and has proven fertile" (pp. 239-40). *Brooke once again restates his earlier view on complexity: it is a "corrective to essentialist and reductionist narratives of conflict," and complexity's primary function is to critique conflict narratives as well as facile harmonizing ones. *For anyone interested in exploring the latest in the historiography of science and religion, read this stimulating and informative book. You will be challenged. Whether the contributors do justice to the central role and character of religion one will have to judge. I for one have my doubts. If we consider our lives as lived to be religion, then religion is not irrelevant to, or in conflict with, or an influential factor on, but rather the very ground for scientific practice. *Notes *1See my review in PSCF 71, no. 3 (2019): 183-84. *2See my essay review, "Telling the Story of Science and Religion: A Nuanced Account," British Journal for the History of Science 29, no. 3 (1996): 357-59. *3See Part 2, "Complexity and the History of Science and Religion," in Recent Themes in the History of Science and Religion, ed. Donald A. Yerxa (Columbia, SC: University of South Carolina Press, 2009). *4Peter Harrison's book The Territories of Science and Religion (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 2015) has been described by Ronald L. Numbers as "the most significant contribution to the history of science and religion since the appearance of John Hedley Brooke's landmark study, Science and Religion: Some Historical Perspectives." [See Matthew Walhout's review in PSCF 67, no. 4 (2015): 281-84.] *5For a more extensive discussion of "science causes secularization," see Peter Harrison's article "Science and Secularization," Intellectual History Review 27, no. 1 (2017): 47-70. *Reviewed by Arie Leegwater, Department of Chemistry and Biochemistry, Calvin University, Grand Rapids, MI 49546.

NORTHERN IRELAND FROM THE AIR. Edited by R. Common, Belfast : Queen's University Geography Department, 1964. 104 pp., 44 plates, 1 folding map. 10 × 8 ins. 25s.THE CANALS OF THE NORTH OF IRELAND, by W. A. McCutcheon. Dawlish : David and Charles, and London : Macdonald and Co., 1965. 180 pp. 8 1/2 × 5 1/4 in. 36s.ULSTER AND OTHER IRISH MAPS c.1600. Edited by G. A. Hayes‐McCoy. Dublin : Irish Manuscripts Commission, 1964. 13 × 19 in. xv + 36 pp., 23. plates. £ 6.SOILS OF COUNTY WEXFORD. Edited by P. Ryan and M. J. Gardiner. Prepared and published by An Foras Talúntais (The Agricultural Institute), Dublin 1964. 171 pp. and three fold‐in maps. 30s.THE GEOGRAPHY OF SOIL, by Brian T. Bunting. London : Hutchinson's University Library, 1965. pp. 213. 14 figs. 12 tables. 7 1/2 × 5 in. 15s.THE HISTORY OF THE STUDY OF LANDFORMS. Vol. I : GEOMORPHOLOGY BEFORE DAVIS. Richard J. Chorley, Anthony J. Dunn and Robert P. Beckinsale. London : Methuen, 1964. 678 pp. 84s.A DICTIONARY OF GEOGRAPHY, by F. J. Monkhouse. London : Edward. Arnold Ltd., 1965. 344 pp. 8 1/2 × 5 1/2 in. 35s.LA REGION DE L'OUEST, by Pierre Flatrès. Collection ‘France de Demain ‘. Paris : Presses Universitaires de France, 1964. 31s. 6d.THE BRITISH ISLES : A SYSTEMATIC GEOGRAPHY. Edited by J. Wreford Watson and J. B. Sissons. Edinburgh : Thomas Nelson, 1964. 452 pp. 45s.SCANDINAVIAN LANDS, by Roy Millward. London : Macmillan, 1964. Pp. 448. 9 × 6 in. 45s.MERSEYSIDE, by R. Kay Gresswell and R. Lawton. British Landscapes Through Maps, No. 6. The Geographical Association, Sheffield, 1964. 36 pp. + 16 plates. 7 1/2 × 9 1/2 in. 5s.WALKING IN WICKLOW, by J. B. Malone. Dublin : Helicon Ltd., 1964. 172 pp. 7 × 4 #fr1/2> in. 7s.GREYSTONES 1864–1964. A parish centenary, 1964. 23 pp. 8 #fr1/4> × 5 1/2 in. 2s. 6d. Obtainable from the A.P.C.K., 37 Dawson Street, Dublin 2.DINNSEANCHAS. Vol. I, No. I. June 1964. An Cumann Logainmneacha, Baile Atha Cliath. Pp. 24. 5s.JOURNAL OF THE ASSOCIATION OF GEOGRAPHY TEACHERS OF IRELAND. Vol. I, Dublin. 1964.MAP READING FOR THE INTERMEDIATE CERTIFICATE, by Michael J. Turner. A. Folens : Dublin. 1964. 92 pp.MAP OF CORK CITY, 1: 15,000. Dublin : Ordnance Survey Office, 1964. 32 × 24 in. On paper, flat, 4s., or folded and covered, 5s.IRELAND, by T. W. Freeman. London : Methuen & Co. Ltd. Third edition, 1965. 5 1/2 × 8 #fr1/2> in. Pp. xx + 560. 65s.THE PLANNING AND FUTURE DEVELOPMENT OF THE DUBLIN REGION. PRELIMINARY REPORT. By Myles Wright. Dublin : Stationery Office, 1965. Pp.55. 8 ins. × 11 3/4 ins. 10s 6d.LIMERICK REGIONAL PLAN. Interim Report on the Limerick—Shannon— Ennis District by Nathaniel Litchfield. The Stationery Office, Dublin 1965. 8 × 12 ins. ; Pp. 83 ; 10s. 6d.ANTRIM NEW TOWN. Outline Plan. Belfast : H. M. Stationery Office, 1965. 10 1/2 × 8 1/2 in. 15s.HEPORT OF THE DEPUTY KEEPER OF THE RECORDS 1954–1959. Belfast : Her Majesty's Stationery Office. Cmd. 490. 138 pp. 10s.ECONOMIC GEOGRAPHY, by Ronald Hope. London : George Philip and Son Ltd., 4th edition, 1965. pp. 296. 15s. 6d.CLIMATE, SOILS AND VEGETATION, by D. C. Money. London : University Tutorial Press, 1965. pp. 272. 18s.TECHNIQUES IN GEOMORPHOLOGY, by Cuchlaine A. M. King. 9 × 5 1/2 in. 342 pp. London : Edward Arnold (Publishers) Ltd., 1966. 40s.BRITISH GEOMORPHOLOGICAL RESEARCH GROUP PUBLICATIONS :— 1. RATES OF EROSION AND WEATHERING IN THE BRITISH ISLES. Occasional Publication No. 2, 1965. Pp. 46. 13 × 8 in. 7s. 6d.2. DEGLACIATION. Occasional Publication No. 3, 1966. Pp. 37. 13 × 8 in. 7s.RECHERCHES DE GÉOMORPHOLOGIE EN ÉCOSSE DU NORD‐OUEST. By A. Godard. Publication de la Faculté des Lettres de l'Université de Strasbourg, 1965. 701 pp. 482 reís.ARTHUR'S SEAT: A HISTORY OF EDINBURGH'S VOLCANO, by G. P. Black. Edinburgh & London : Oliver & Boyd, 1966. 226 pp. 7 1/2 × 5 in. 35s.OFFSHORE GEOGRAPHY OF NORTHWESTERN EUROPE. The Political and Economic Problems of Delimitation and Control, by Lewis M. Alexander. London : Murray, 1966. 35s.GEOGRAPHICAL PIVOTS OF HISTORY. An Inaugural Lecture, by W. Kirk. Leicester University Press, 1965. 6s.THE GEOGRAPHY OF FRONTIERS AND BOUNDARIES, by J. R. V. Prescott. London : Hutchinson, 1965. 15s.THE READER'S DIGEST COMPLETE ATLAS OF THE BRITISH ISLES.. London : Reader's Digest Assoc., 1965. 230 pp. 15 1/4 × 10 1/2 in. £5. 10. 0.ULSTER DIALECTS. AN INTRODUCTORY SYMPOSIUM. Edited by G. B. Adams, Belfast : Ulster Folk Museum, 1964. 201 pp. 9 1/2 × 6 1/2 in. 20s.ULSTER FOLKLIFE, Volume 11. Belfast: The Ulster Folk Museum, 1965. Pp. 139. 9 1/2 × 7 in. 15s.GEOGRAPHICAL ABSTRACTS published and edited by K. M. Clayton, F. M Yates, F. E. Hamilton and C. Board.Obtainable from Geo. Abstracts, Dept. of Geography, London School of Economics, Aldwych, London, W.C.2. Subscription rates as below.THE CLIMATE OF LONDON. T. J. Chandler. London : Hutchinson and Co., 1965. 292 pp., 86 figs., 93 tables. 70/‐.MONSOON LANDS, Part I, by R. T. Cobb and L. J. M. Coleby. London : University Tutorial Press Ltd., 1966, constituting Book Six (Part 1 ) of the Advanced Level Geography Series. 303 pp. 8 1/4 × 5 1/4 in. 20s.PREHISTORIC AND EARLY CHRISTIAN IRELAND. A GUIDE, by Estyn Evans. London : B. T. Batsford Ltd., 1966. xii + 241 pp. 45s.A REGIONAL GEOGRAPHY OF IRELAND, by G. Fahy. Dublin : Browne and Nolan Ltd. No date. 238 pp. 12s.THE CANALS OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND, by V. T. H. and D. R. Delany. Newton Abbot : David and Charles, 1966. 260 pp. + 20 plates. 8 1/2 × 5 1/2 in. 50s.THE COURSE OF IRISH HISTORY. Edited by T. W. Moody and F. X. Martin. Cork : The Mercier Press. 1967. 404 pp. 5 3/4 × 7 3/4 ins. Paperback, 21s. Hard cover, 40s.NORTH MUNSTER STUDIES. Edited by E. Rynne. Limerick : The Thomond Archaeological Society, 1967. 535 pp. 63s.SOILS OF COUNTY LIMERICK, by T. F. Finch and Pierce Ryan. Dublin: An Foras Talúntais, 1966. 199 pp. and four fold‐in maps. 9 1/2 × 7 1/4 in. 30s.THE FORESTS OF IRELAND. Edited by H. M. Fitzpatrick. Dublin : Society of Irish Foresters. No date. 153 pp. 9 3/4 × 7 1/4 in. 30s.PLANNING FOR AMENITY AND TOURISM. Specimen Development Plan Manual 2–3, Donegal. Dublin : An Foras Forbartha (The National Institute for Physical Planning and Construction Research), 1966. 110 pp. 8 × 11 in. 12s. 6d.NEW DIMENSIONS IN REGIONAL PLANNING. A CASE STUDY OF IRELAND, by Jeremiah Newman. Dublin : An Foras Forbartha, 1967. 128 pp. 8 1/2 × 6 in. 25s.TRAFFIC PLANNING FOR SMALLER TOWNS. Dublin : An Foras Forbartha (The National Institute for Regional Planning and Construction Research), 1966. 35 pp. 8 1/4 × 10 3/4 in. No price.LATE AND POST‐GLACIAL SHORELINES AND ICE LIMITS IN ARGYLL AND NORTH‐EAST ULSTER, by F. M. Synge and N. Stephens. Institute of British Geographers Transactions No. 59, 1966, pp. 101–125.QUATERNARY CHANGES OF SEA‐LEVEL IN IRELAND, by A. R. Orme. Institute of British Geographers Transactions No. 39, 1966, pp. 127–140.LIMESTONE PAVEMENTS (with special reference to Western Ireland), by Paul W. Williams. Institute of British Geographers Transactions No. 40, 1966, pp. 155–172. 50s. for 198 pages.IRISH SPELEOLOGY. Volume I, No. 2, 1966. Pp. 18. 10 × 8 in. 5s., free to members of the Irish Speleological Association.THE GEOGRAPHER'S CRAFT, by T. W. Freeman. Manchester University Press, 1967. pp.204. 8 1/4 × 5 in. 25s.GEOGRAPHY AS HUMAN ECOLOGY. Edited by S. R. Eyre and G. R. J. Jones. London : Edward Arnold Ltd., 1966. 308 pp. 45s.LOCATIONAL ANALYSIS IN HUMAN GEOGRAPHY, by Peter Haggett. London : Edward Arnold (Publishers) Ltd., 1965. 339 pp. 9 × 5 1/2 in. 40s.AGRICULTURAL GEOGRAPHY, by Leslie Symons. London : G. Bell and Sons, Ltd., 1967. 283 pp. 8 1/2 × 5 1/2 ins. 30s.THE GEOLOGY OF SCOTLAND, edited by Gordon Y. Craig. Edinburgh and London : Oliver & Boyd, 1965. Pp. 556. 9 3/4 × 7 1/2 in. 105s.MORPHOLOGY OF THE EARTH, by Lester C. King. Edinburgh : Oliver and Boyd, 2nd ed., 1967. 726 pp. 9 1/2 × 7 in. £5. 5. 0.INTERNATIONAL YEARBOOK OF CARTOGRAPHY, V, 1965. Edited by Eduard Imhof. London : George Philip and Son Ltd., 1965. 222 pp. + 9 plates. 9 3/4 × 6 1/2 in. 47s. 6d.IRISH FOLK WAYS, by E. Estyn Evans. London : Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1967. 324 pp. 16s.A HISTORY OF MEDIEVAL IRELAND, by A.J.Otway‐Ruthven. London: Ernest Benn Limited. New York : Barnes and Noble Inc., 1968. xv + 454 pp. 70s.IRISH AGRICULTURAL PRODUCTION, ITS VOLUME AND STRUCTURE, by Raymond D. Crotty. Cork University Press, 1966. 384 pp. 42s.PLANNING IN IRELAND. Edited by F. Rogerson and P. O hUiginn. Dublin : The Irish Branch of the Town Planning Institute and An Foras Forbartha, 1907. 199 pp.THE SHELL GUIDE TO IRELAND, by Lord Killanin and Michael V. Duignan. London : Ebury Press and George Rainbird (distributed by Michael Joseph) : 2nd edition, 1967. 512 pp. 50s.THE CLIMATE OF NORTH MUNSTER, by P. K. Rohan. Dublin : Department of Transport and Power, Meteorological Service, 1968. 72 pp. 10s. 6d.SOILS OF COUNTY CARLOW, by M.J. Conry and Pierce Ryan. Dublin : An Foras Talúntais, 1967. 204 pp. and four fold‐in maps. 30s.MOURNE COUNTRY, by E. Estyn Evans. Dundalk : Dundalgan Press (W. Tempest) Ltd., 2nd ed., 1967. 244 pp. 63s.THE DUBLIN REGION. Advisory Plan and Final Report, by Myles Wright. Dublin : The Stationery Office, 1967. Part One, pp. 64. 20s. Part Two, pp. 224. 80s.BELFAST : THE ORIGIN AND GROWTH OF AN INDUSTRIAL CITY. Edited by J. C. Beckett and R. E. Glasscock. London : The British Broadcasting Corporation, 1967. 204 pp. 25s.REPORT ON SKIBBEREEN SOCIAL SURVEY, by John Jackson. Dublin : Human Sciences Committee of the Irish National Productivity Committee, 1967. 63 pp. 12s. 6d.AN OUTLINE PLAN FOR GALWAY CITY, by Breandan S. MacAodha. Dublin : Scepter Publishers Ltd., 1966. 15 pp.COASTAL PASSENGER STEAMERS AND INLAND NAVIGATIONS IN THE SOUTH OF IRELAND, by D.B. McNeill. Belfast : The Transport Museum (Transport Handbook No. 6), 1965 (issued in 1967). 44 pp. (text) + 12 pp. (plates). 3s. 6d.CANALIANA, the annual bulletin of Robertstown Muintir na Tire. Robertstown, Co. Kildare : Muintir na Tire, n.d. (issued in 1967). 60 pp. 2s. 6d.CONACRE IN IRELAND, by Breandan S. MacAodha (Social Sciences Research Centre, Galway). Dublin : Scepter Publishers Ltd., 1967, 15 pp. No price.PROCESSES OF COASTAL DEVELOPMENT, by V.P. Zenkovich, edited by J.A. Steers, translated by D.G. Fry. 738 pp. Edinburgh and London : Oliver and Boyd, 1967. £12. 12s.CONGRESS PROCEEDINGS. 20th International Geographical Congress. Edited by J. Wreford Watson. London : Nelson, 1967. 401 pp. 70s.REGIONAL GEOGRAPHY, by Roger Minshull. London : Hutchinson University Library, 1967. 168 pp. 10s. 6d.ATMOSPHERE, WEATHER AND CLIMATE, by R.G. Barry and R.J. Chorley. London : University Paperback, Methuen, 1967. 25s.THE EVOLUTION OF SCOTLAND'S SCENERY, by J.B. Sissons. Edinburgh and London : Oliver and Boyd, 1967. 259 pp. 63s.WEST WICKLOW. BACKGROUND FOR DEVELOPMENT, by F.H.A. Aalen, D.A. Gillmor and P.W. Williams. Dublin : Geography Department, Trinity College, 1966. 323 pp. Unpublished : copy available in the Society's Library.

In 2022, the Swiss branch of the international publishing house Springer published a book, a collection of papers entitled Military Geoscience: A Multifaceted Approach to the Study of Warfare. It consists of selected contributions by international researchers in the field of military geoscience, presented at the 13th International Conference on Military Geosciences, held in Padua in June 2019. The first paper is by the editors, Aldin Bondesan and Judy Ehlen, and provides a brief overview of understanding the concept of military geoscience as an application of geology and geography to the military domain, and the historical development of the discipline. It should also be pointed out that the International Conferences on Military Geosciences (ICMG), which organises this biennial international conference, has over the past two decades also covered other aspects, such as conflict archaeology. The publication is further divided into three parts. The first part comprises three contributions covering military geoscience up to the 20th century. The first paper, by Chris Fuhriman and Jason Ridgeway, provides an insights into the Battle of Marathon through topography visualisation. The geography of the Marathon field, the valley between Mt. Cotroni and Mt. Agrieliki, allowed the Greek defenders to nullify the advantage of the Persian cavalry and archers, who were unable to develop their full potential. This is followed by a paper by Judy Ehlen, who explores the geological background of the Anglo-British coastal fortification system along the English Channel, focusing on the Portsmouth area of Hampshire. The author thus points out that changes in artillery technology and naval tactics between the 16th and 19th centuries necessitated changes in the construction of coastal fortifications, both in terms of the form of the fortifications and the method of construction, including the choice of basic building materials, as well as the siting of the fortifications in space. The next article is then dedicated to the Monte Baldo Fortress in north-eastern Italy, between Lake Garda and the Adige River. In his article, Francesco Premi analyses the presence of the fortress in the transition area between the Germanic world and the Mediterranean, and the importance of this part of Italy (at the southernmost part of the pre-Alpine mountains) in military history, as reflected in the large number of important military and war relics and monuments. The second part of the book, which is the most comprehensive, focuses on the two World Wars and consists of nine papers. The first paper in this part provides an analysis of the operation of trench warfare training camps in the Aube region of France. The group of authors, Jérôme Brenot, Yves Desfossés, Robin Perarnau, Marc Lozano and Alain Devos, initially note that static warfare training camps have not received much attention so far. Using aerial photography of the region dating from 1948 and surviving World War II photographic material, they identified some 20 sites where soldiers of the Entente forces were trained for front-line service in trenches. Combined archaeological and sociological fieldwork followed, confirming the presence of these camps, both through preserved remains and the collective memory. The second paper in this volume also concerns the survey on trenches, located in northern Italy in the Venezia Tridentina Veneto area in northern Italy. The authors Luigi Magnini, Giulia Rovera, Armando De Guio and Giovanni Azzalin thus use digital classification methods and archaeology to determine how Italian and Austro-Hungarian First World War trenches have been preserved or, in case they have disappeared, why this was the case, both from the point of view of the natural features as well as from the anthropological point of view of the restoration of the pre-war settings. The next paper, by Paolo Macini and Paolo Sammuri, analyses the activities of the miners and pioneers of the Italian Corps of Engineers during the First World War, in particular with regard to innovative approaches to underground mine warfare. In the Dolomites, the Italian engineers, using various listening devices, drilling machinery and geophysical methods, developed a system for drilling underground mine chambers, which they intended to use and actually used to destroy parts of Austro-Hungarian positions. The paper by Elena Dai Prà, Nicola Gabellieri and Matteo Boschian Bailo concerns the Italian Army's operations during the First World War. It focuses on the use of tactical maps with emphasis on typological classification, the use of symbols, and digital cartography. The authors thus analysed the tactical maps of the Italian Third Army, which were being constantly updated by plotting the changes in positions and tactical movements of both sides. These changes were examined both in terms of the use of new symbols and the analysis of the movements. This is followed by a geographical presentation of the Italian Army's activities during the First World War. The authors Paolo Plini, Sabina Di Franco and Rosamaria Salvatori have thus collected 21,856 toponyms by analysing documents and maps. The locations were also geolocated to give an overview of the places where the Italian Army operated during the First World War. The analysis initially revealed the complexity of the events on the battlefields, but also that the sources had misidentified the places of operation, as toponyms were misidentified, especially in the case of homonyms. Consequently, the area of operation was misidentified as well. In this respect, the case of Vipava was highlighted, which can refer to both a river and a settlement. The following paper is the first on the Second World War. It is the article by H. A. P. Smith on Italian prisoners of war in South Africa. The author outlines the circumstances in which Italian soldiers arrived to and lived in the southern African continent, and the contribution they made to the local environment and the society, and the remnants of their presence preserved to the present day. In their article, William W. Doe III and Michael R. Czaja analyse the history, geography and significance of Camp Hale in the state of Colorado. In doing so, they focus on the analysis of the military organization and its impact on the local community. Camp Hale was thus the first military installation of the U.S. Army, designated to test and train U.S. soldiers in mountain and alpine warfare. It was here that the U.S. 10th Mountain Division was formed, which concluded its war path on Slovenian soil. The Division's presence in this former camp, which was in military use also after the war until 1965, and in the surrounding area is still visible through numerous monuments. This is followed by a paper by Hermann Häusler, who deals with German military geography and geology on the Eastern Front of the Second World War. A good year before the German attack on the Soviet Union, German and Austrian military geologists began an analysis of the topography, population and infrastructure of the European part of the Soviet Union, which led to a series of publications, including maps showing the suitability of the terrain for military operations. During the war, military geological teams then followed the frontline units and carried out geotechnical tasks such as water supply, construction of fortifications, supply of building materials for transport infrastructure, and analysis of the suitability of the terrain for all-terrain driving of tracked and other vehicles. The same author also authored a paper in the next chapter, this time focusing on the activities of German military geologists in the Adriatic area. Similarly to his first contribution, the author presents the work of military geologists in northern Italy and north-western Slovenia. He also focuses on the construction of fortification systems in northern Italy and presents the work of karst hunters in the Operational Zone of the Adriatic Littoral. Part 3 covers the 21st century with five different papers (chapters). The first paper by Alexander K. Stewart deals with the operations of the U.S. Army specialised teams in Afghanistan. These Agribusiness Development Teams (ADTs) carried out a specialised form of counter-guerrilla warfare in which they sought to improve the conditions for the development of local communities through agricultural assistance to the local population. In this way, they were also counteracting support for the Taliban. The author notes that, in the decade after the programme's launch, the project had only a 19% success rate. However, he stresses that such forms of civil-military cooperation should be present in future operations. The next chapter, by Francis A. Galgan, analyses the activities of modern pirates through military-geographical or geological methods. Pirates, who pose a major international security threat, are present in four regions of the world: South and South-East Asia, East Africa and the Gulf of Guinea. Building on the data on pirate attacks between 1997 and 2017, the author shows the temporal and spatial patterns of pirate activities, as well as the influence of the geography of coastal areas on their activities. This is followed by another chapter with a maritime topic. Mark Stephen Blaine discusses the geography of territorial disputes in the South China Sea. Through a presentation of international law, the strategic importance of the sea (sea lanes, natural resources) and the overlapping territorial claims of China, Taiwan, Malaysia, Vietnam and Indonesia, the author shows the increasing level of conflict in the area and calls for the utmost efforts to be made to prevent the outbreak of hostilities or war. M. H. Bulmer's paper analyses the Turkish Armed Forces' activities in Syria from the perspective of military geology. The author focuses on the Kurdish forces' defence projects, which mainly involved the construction of gun trenches, observation towers or points, tunnels and underground facilities, as well as on the Turkish armed forces' actions against this military infrastructure. This involved both mountain and underground warfare activities. While these defensive infrastructures proved to be successful during the guerrilla warfare period, direct Turkish attacks on these installations demonstrated their vulnerability. The last chapter deals with the current operational needs and limitations of military geosciences from the perspective of the Austrian Armed Forces. Friedrich Teichmann points out that the global operational interest of states determines the need for accurate geo-data as well as geo-support in case of rapidly evolving requirements. In this context, geoscience must respond to new forms of threats, both asymmetric and cyber, at a time when resources for geospatial services are limited, which also requires greater synergy and an innovative approach to finding solutions among multiple stakeholders. This also includes increased digitisation, including the use of satellite and other space technologies. The number of chapters in the publication illustrates the breadth and depth of military geoscience, as well as the relevance of geoscience to past, present and future conflicts or military operations and missions. The current military operations in Ukraine demonstrate the need to take into account the geo-geological realities of the environment and that terrain remains one of the decisive factors for success on the battlefield, irrespective of the technological developments in military engineering and technology. This can also be an incentive for Slovenian researchers and the Slovenian Armed Forces to increase research activities in the field of military geosciences, especially in view of the rich military and war history in the geographically and geologically diverse territory of Slovenia.

Resumen:Este trabajo busca explicar cómo la cartografía histórica es útil para la reconstrucción de los procesos históricos de demarcación de límites territoriales del estado de Durango y los conflictos derivados de estos procesos. El texto pone énfasis en las tensiones surgidas entre distintas capas de organización territorial a finales del siglo XIX, refiriéndose básicamente a tres: la propiedad de la tierra, los componentes naturales y la división político-administrativa. La atención se centra en ponderar la riqueza informativa y la utilidad de la valiosa colección cartográfica Pastor Rouaix resguardada en la Mapoteca Manuel Orozco y Berra. Dicha colección se conforma de 583 planos acopiados por los ingenieros Pastor Rouaix y Carlos Patoni, en su mayoría relacionados con la propiedad de la tierra en el estado de Durango.Palabras clave: Cartografía, propiedad, territorio, demarcaciones, historia. Recepción: 22 de enero de 2021 Aceptación: 6 de abril de 2021 Abstract: This paper explains how historical cartography is useful for reconstructing the historical processes of demarcation of territorial limits of the state of Durango and the conflicts derived from these processes. The text emphasizes the tensions that arose between different layers of territorial organization by the end of the 19th century, referring basically to three of them: land ownership, natural components, and political and administrative divisions. The text focuses attention on pondering the wealth of information and the usefulness of the valuable Pastor Rouaix Cartographic Collection, kept in the Manuel Orozco y Berra Map Library. This collection consists of 583 maps collected by the engineers Pastor Rouaix and Carlos Patoni, most of them related to property ownership in the state of Durango.Key words: Cartography, property, territory, demarcations, history.

As plantas e vistas dos centros urbanos reunidas no livro Imagens de vilas e cidades do Brasil Colonial são, ao mesmo tempo, obras-de-arte e documentos preciosos para o conhecimento da Historia e da Geografia do País. O artigo mostra a importância desses desenhos, como instrumentos de trabalho para os professores dessas e de outras matérias. A publicacão do livro foi acompanhada da edicão de um CD-ROM e de uma coleção de posters, destinados a apoiar o trabalho de pesquisadores e professores. Palavras-chave: história do Brasil; urbanismo; cartografia histórica; Brasil Colônia Abstract The plans and views of urban centers gathered in the book Imagens de Vilas e Cidades do Brasil Colonial (Images of Villages and Cities of the Colonial Brazil) are, at the same time, masterpieces and precious documents for the knowledge of the Geography and the History of the country. The article shows the importance of these drawings, as work instruments for geography and history teachers, and other subjects. The publication of the book comes with the edition of a CD-ROM and a collection of posters, intended to give support to the work of researchers and teachers of all regions of Brazil. Keywords: History of Brazil; urbanism; historical cartography; Colonial Brazil.

The reputation of Agha Shahid Ali, the Kashmiri-American poet, as a poet of exile is well established. Much of his poetry deals with themes of loss, lamentation, and longing where he speaks in a powerful voice about the plight of people of Kashmir. Shahid’s personal memories are not only of Kashmir but also of Delhi, the city where he was born, studied, taught, and published his first collection of poems. In his poems about Delhi he revisits both old Delhi and New Delhi: he roams around the city, listens to Qawwali at Saint Nizamuddin’s mausoleum, meets Muslim butchers, remembers his parents, remembers Shahjahan, and recites Bahadur Shah Zafar’s poem. This article investigates the representations and recollections of Delhi in Agha Shahid Ali’s poems and explores the city’s centrality in understanding socio-cultural history, the importance of particular individuals, and spatial specificity. It studies how the poet explores the city in relation to its languages, histories (the Rebellion of 1857, Partition, post-Partition), and cultures (Mughal and modern). I further investigate how Ali’s literary cartography of Delhi is influenced both by indigenous genres such as Shehr Ashob and the modern English poetic tradition, and how certain Indo-Islamic tropes become central to the poet’s literary memorialization of India’s capital city.

ABSTRACT Objective: to describe the human and non-human actors network involved in the implementation of an electronic medical record in Primary Health Care in Minas Gerais. Method: this is a study with a qualitative approach, with the Actor-Network Theory as a theoretical framework and Controversy Cartography as a methodological framework. We interviewed 20 health professionals, managers and other spokespersons involved with the implementation of an electronic medical record in a city in Minas Gerais State. We conducted observation and collection of 30 documents when following the participants from September 2018 to August 2019. For analysis, we used the following scales to visualize the mapped social dynamics: Minor Scale (brief and chronological description of the main events); Intermediate Scale (identification of humans and non-humans, their relationships and controversies); Major Scale (detailed description of the main controversies). Results: the network of actants involved in the electronic medical record implementation is woven from controversies: multiple actants and their translations influencing the electronic medical record implementation; contributions and weaknesses shaping the electronic medical record as an open controversy. Such controversies emerged from the mobilization of actors from various spheres of government, in addition to the place of implementation. Despite the weaknesses found, the electronic medical record contributed to: support decision-making; monitor patients’ health history; integrate information between the assistance network points. Conclusion: the success of the technology implementation was influenced by the relationships established between humans and non-humans from different management spheres, which, by mobilizing, strengthen or weaken computerization.

Any understanding of social and cultural change is impossible without a knowledge of the way media work as environments. —Marshall McLuhan. What is visible and tangible in things represents our possible action upon them. —Henri Bergson. Introduction: Subjective Maps as ‘Contact Zones’ Maps feature heavily in a variety of media; they appear in textbooks, on television, in print, and on the screens of our handheld devices. The production of cartographic texts is a process that is imbued with power relations and bound up with the production and reproduction of social life (Pinder 405). Mapping involves choices as to what information is and is not included. In their organisation, categorisation, modeling, and representation maps show and they hide. Thus “the idea that a small number of maps or even a single (and singular) map might be sufficient can only apply in a spatialised area of study whose own self-affirmation depends on isolation from its context” (Lefebvre 85–86). These isolations determine the way we interpret the physical, biological, and social worlds. The map can be thought of as a schematic for political systems within a confined set of spatial relations, or as a container for political discourse. Mapping contributes equally to the construction of experiential realities as to the representation of physical space, which also contains the potential to incorporate representations of temporality and rhythm to spatial schemata. Thus maps construct realities as much as they represent them and coproduce space as much as the political identities of people who inhabit them. Maps are active texts and have the ability to promote social change (Pickles 146). It is no wonder, then, that artists, theorists and activists alike readily engage in the conflicted praxis of mapping. This critical engagement “becomes a method to track the past, embody memories, explain the unexplainable” and manifest the latent (Ibarra 66). In this paper I present a short case study of Bangalore: Subjective Cartographies a new media art project that aims to model a citizen driven effort to participate in a critical form of cartography, which challenges dominant representations of the city-space. I present a critical textual analysis of the maps produced in the workshops, the artist statements relating to these works used in the exhibition setting, and statements made by the participants on the project’s blog. This “praxis-logical” approach allows for a focus on the project as a space of aggregation and the communicative processes set in motion within them. In analysing such projects we could (and should) be asking questions about the functions served by the experimental concepts under study—who has put it forward? Who is utilising it and under what circumstances? Where and how has it come into being? How does discourse circulate within it? How do these spaces as sites of emergent forms of resistance within global capitalism challenge traditional social movements? How do they create self-reflexive systems?—as opposed to focusing on ontological and technical aspects of digital mapping (Renzi 73). In de-emphasising the technology of digital cartography and honing in on social relations embedded within the text(s), this study attempts to complement other studies on digital mapping (see Strom) by presenting a case from the field of politically oriented tactical media. Bangalore: Subjective Cartographies has been selected for analysis, in this exploration of media as “zone.” It goes some way to incorporating subjective narratives into spatial texts. This is a three-step process where participants tapped into spatial subjectivities by data collection or environmental sensing led by personal reflection or ethnographic enquiry, documenting and geo-tagging their findings in the map. Finally they engaged an imaginative or ludic process of synthesising their data in ways not inherent within the traditional conventions of cartography, such as the use of sound and distortion to explicate the intensity of invisible phenomena at various coordinates in the city-space. In what follows I address the “zone” theme by suggesting that if we apply McLuhan’s notion of media as environment together with Henri Bergson’s assertion that visibility and tangibility constitutes the potential for action to digital maps, projects such as Bangalore: Subjective Cartographies constitute a “contact zone.” A type of zone where groups come together at the local level and flows of discourse about art, information communication, media, technology, and environment intersect with local histories and cultures within the cartographic text. A “contact zone,” then, is a site where latent subjectivities are manifested and made potentially politically potent. “Contact zones,” however, need not be spaces for the aggrieved or excluded (Renzi 82), as they may well foster the ongoing cumulative politics of the mundane capable of developing into liminal spaces where dominant orders may be perforated. A “contact zone” is also not limitless and it must be made clear that the breaking of cartographic convention, as is the case with the project under study here, need not be viewed as resistances per se. It could equally represent thresholds for public versus private life, the city-as-text and the city-as-social space, or the zone where representations of space and representational spaces interface (Lefebvre 233), and culture flows between the mediated and ideated (Appadurai 33–36). I argue that a project like Bangalore: Subjective Cartographies demonstrates that maps as urban text form said “contact zones,” where not only are media forms such as image, text, sound, and video are juxtaposed in a singular spatial schematic, but narratives of individual and collective subjectivities (which challenge dominant orders of space and time, and city-rhythm) are contested. Such a “contact zone” in turn may not only act as a resource for citizens in the struggle of urban design reform and a democratisation of the facilities it produces, but may also serve as a heuristic device for researchers of new media spatiotemporalities and their social implications. Critical Cartography and Media Tactility Before presenting this brief illustrative study something needs to be said of the context from which Bangalore: Subjective Cartographies has arisen. Although a number of Web 2.0 applications have come into existence since the introduction of Google Maps and map application program interfaces, which generate a great deal of geo-tagged user generated content aimed at reconceptualising the mapped city-space (see historypin for example), few have exhibited great significance for researchers of media and communications from the perspective of building critical theories relating to political potential in mediated spaces. The expression of power through mapping can be understood from two perspectives. The first—attributed largely to the Frankfurt School—seeks to uncover the potential of a society that is repressed by capitalist co-opting of the cultural realm. This perspective sees maps as a potential challenge to, and means of providing emancipation from, existing power structures. The second, less concerned with dispelling false ideologies, deals with the politics of epistemology (Crampton and Krygier 14). According to Foucault, power was not applied from the top down but manifested laterally in a highly diffused manner (Foucault 117; Crampton and Krygier 14). Foucault’s privileging of the spatial and epistemological aspects of power and resistance complements the Frankfurt School’s resistance to oppression in the local. Together the two perspectives orient power relative to spatial and temporal subjectivities, and thus fit congruently into cartographic conventions. In order to make sense of these practices the post-oppositional character of tactical media maps should be located within an economy of power relations where resistance is never outside of the field of forces but rather is its indispensable element (Renzi 72). Such exercises in critical cartography are strongly informed by the critical politico-aesthetic praxis of political/art collective The Situationist International, whose maps of Paris were inherently political. The Situationist International incorporated appropriated texts into, and manipulated, existing maps to explicate city-rhythms and intensities to construct imaginative and alternate representations of the city. Bangalore: Subjective Cartographies adopts a similar approach. The artists’ statement reads: We build our subjective maps by combining different methods: photography, film, and sound recording; […] to explore the visible and invisible […] city; […] we adopt psycho-geographical approaches in exploring territory, defined as the study of the precise effects of the geographical environment, consciously developed or not, acting directly on the emotional behaviour of individuals. The project proposals put forth by workshop participants also draw heavily from the Situationists’s A New Theatre of Operations for Culture. A number of Situationist theories and practices feature in the rationale for the maps created in the Bangalore Subjective Cartographies workshop. For example, the Situationists took as their base a general notion of experimental behaviour and permanent play where rationality was approached on the basis of whether or not something interesting could be created out of it (Wark 12). The dérive is the rapid passage through various ambiences with a playful-constructive awareness of the psychographic contours of a specific section of space-time (Debord). The dérive can be thought of as an exploration of an environment without preconceptions about the contours of its geography, but rather a focus on the reality of inhabiting a place. Détournement involves the re-use of elements from recognised media to create a new work with meaning often opposed to the original. Psycho-geography is taken to be the subjective ambiences of particular spaces and times. The principles of détournement and psycho-geography imply a unitary urbanism, which hints at the potential of achieving in environments what may be achieved in media with détournement. Bangalore: Subjective Cartographies carries Situationist praxis forward by attempting to exploit certain properties of information digitalisation to formulate textual representations of unitary urbanism. Bangalore: Subjective Cartographies is demonstrative of a certain media tactility that exists more generally across digital-networked media ecologies and channels this to political ends. This tactility of media is best understood through textual properties awarded by the process and logic of digitalisation described in Lev Manovich’s Language of New Media. These properties are: numerical representation in the form of binary code, which allows for the reification of spatial data in a uniform format that can be stored and retrieved in-silico as opposed to in-situ; manipulation of this code by the use of algorithms, which renders the scales and lines of maps open to alteration; modularity that enables incorporation of other textual objects into the map whilst maintaining each incorporated item’s individual identity; the removal to some degree of human interaction in terms of the translation of environmental data into cartographic form (whilst other properties listed here enable human interaction with the cartographic text), and the nature of digital code allows for changes to accumulate incrementally creating infinite potential for refinements (Manovich 49–63). The Subjective Mapping of Bangalore Bangalore is an interesting site for such a project given the recent and rapid evolution of its media infrastructure. As a “media city,” the first television sets appeared in Bangalore at some point in the early 1980s. The first Internet Service Provider (ISP), which served corporate clients only, commenced operating a decade later and then offered dial-up services to domestic clients in the mid-1990s. At present, however, Bangalore has the largest number of broadband Internet connections in India. With the increasing convergence of computing and telecommunications with traditional forms of media such as film and photography, Bangalore demonstrates well what Scott McQuire terms a media-architecture complex, the core infrastructure for “contact zones” (vii). Bangalore: Subjective Cartographies was a workshop initiated by French artists Benjamin Cadon and Ewen Cardonnet. It was conducted with a number of students at the Srishti School of Art, Design and Technology in November and December 2009. Using Metamap.fr (an online cartographic tool that makes it possible to add multimedia content such as texts, video, photos, sounds, links, location points, and paths to digital maps) students were asked to, in groups of two or three, collect and consult data on ‘felt’ life in Bangalore using an ethnographic, transverse geographic, thematic, or temporal approach. The objective of the project was to model a citizen driven effort to subvert dominant cartographic representations of the city. In doing so, the project and this paper posits that there is potential for such methods to be adopted to form new literacies of cartographic media and to render the cartographic imaginary politically potent. The participants’ brief outlined two themes. The first was the visible and symbolic city where participants were asked to investigate the influence of the urban environment on the behaviours and sensations of its inhabitants, and to research and collect signifiers of traditional and modern worlds. The invisible city brief asked participants to consider the latent environment and link it to human behaviour—in this case electromagnetic radiation linked to the cities telecommunications and media infrastructure was to be specifically investigated. The Visible and Symbolic City During British rule many Indian cities functioned as dual entities where flow of people and commodities circulated between localised enclaves and the centralised British-built areas. Mirroring this was the dual mode of administration where power was shared between elected Indian legislators and appointed British officials (Hoselitz 432–33). Reflecting on this diarchy leads naturally to questions about the politics of civic services such as the water supply, modes of public communication and instruction, and the nature of the city’s administration, distribution, and manufacturing functions. Workshop participants approached these issues in a variety of ways. In the subjective maps entitled Microbial Streets and Water Use and Reuse, food and water sources of street vendors are traced with the aim to map water supply sources relative to the movements of street vendors operating in the city. Images of the microorganisms are captured using hacked webcams as makeshift microscopes. The data was then converted to audio using Pure Data—a real-time graphical programming environment for the processing audio, video and graphical data. The intention of Microbial Streets is to demonstrate how mapping technologies could be used to investigate the flows of food and water from source to consumer, and uncover some of the latencies involved in things consumed unhesitatingly everyday. Typographical Lens surveys Russell Market, an older part of the city through an exploration of the aesthetic and informational transformation of the city’s shop and street signage. In Ethni City, Avenue Road is mapped from the perspective of local goldsmiths who inhabit the area. Both these maps attempt to study the convergence of the city’s dual function and how the relationship between merchants and their customers has changed during the transition from localised enclaves, catering to the sale of particular types of goods, to the development of shopping precincts, where a variety of goods and services can be sought. Two of the project’s maps take a spatiotemporal-archivist approach to the city. Bangalore 8mm 1940s uses archival Super 8 footage and places digitised copies on the map at the corresponding locations of where they were originally filmed. The film sequences, when combined with satellite or street-view images, allow for the juxtaposition of present day visions of the city with those of the 1940s pre-partition era. Chronicles of Collection focuses on the relationship between people and their possessions from the point of view of the object and its pathways through the city in space and time. Collectors were chosen for this map as the value they placed on the object goes beyond the functional and the monetary, which allowed the resultant maps to access and express spatially the layers of meaning a particular object may take on in differing contexts of place and time in the city-space. The Invisible City In the expression of power through city-spaces, and by extension city-texts, certain circuits and flows are ossified and others rendered latent. Raymond Williams in Politics and Letters writes: however dominant a social system may be, the very meaning of its domination involves a limitation or selection of the activities it covers, so that by definition it cannot exhaust all social experience, which therefore always potentially contains space for alternative acts and alternative intentions which are not yet articulated as a social institution or even project. (252) The artists’ statement puts forward this possible response, an exploration of the latent aesthetics of the city-space: In this sense then, each device that enriches our perception for possible action on the real is worthy of attention. Even if it means the use of subjective methods, that may not be considered ‘evidence’. However, we must admit that any subjective investigation, when used systematically and in parallel with the results of technical measures, could lead to new possibilities of knowledge. Electromagnetic City maps the city’s sources of electromagnetic radiation, primarily from mobile phone towers, but also as a by-product of our everyday use of technologies, televisions, mobile phones, Internet Wi-Fi computer screens, and handheld devices. This map explores issues around how the city’s inhabitants hear, see, feel, and represent things that are a part of our environment but invisible, and asks: are there ways that the intangible can be oriented spatially? The intensity of electromagnetic radiation being emitted from these sources, which are thought to negatively influence the meditation of ancient sadhus (sages) also features in this map. This data was collected by taking electromagnetic flow meters into the suburb of Yelhanka (which is also of interest because it houses the largest milk dairy in the state of Karnataka) in a Situationist-like derive and then incorporated back into Metamap. Signal to Noise looks at the struggle between residents concerned with the placement of mobile phone towers around the city. It does so from the perspectives of people who seek information about their placement concerned about mobile phone signal quality, and others concerned about the proximity of this infrastructure to their homes due to to potential negative health effects. Interview footage was taken (using a mobile phone) and manipulated using Pure Data to distort the visual and audio quality of the footage in proportion to the fidelity of the mobile phone signal in the geographic area where the footage was taken. Conclusion The “contact zone” operating in Bangalore: Subjective Cartographies, and the underlying modes of social enquiry that make it valuable, creates potential for the contestation of new forms of polity that may in turn influence urban administration and result in more representative facilities of, and for, city-spaces and their citizenry. Robert Hassan argues that: This project would mean using tactical media to produce new spaces and temporalities that are explicitly concerned with working against the unsustainable “acceleration of just about everything” that our present neoliberal configuration of the network society has generated, showing that alternatives are possible and workable—in ones job, home life, family life, showing that digital [spaces and] temporality need not mean the unerring or unbending meter of real-time [and real city-space] but that an infinite number of temporalities [and subjectivities of space-time] can exist within the network society to correspond with a diversity of local and contextual cultures, societies and polities. (174) As maps and locative motifs begin to feature more prominently in media, analyses such as the one discussed in this paper may allow for researchers to develop theoretical approaches to studying newer forms of media. References Appadurai, Arjun. Modernity at Large: Cultural Dimensions of Globalisation. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 1996. “Bangalore: Subjective Cartographies.” 25 July 2011 ‹http://bengaluru.labomedia.org/page/2/›. Bergson, Henri. Creative Evolution. New York: Henry Holt and Company, 1911. Crampton, Jeremy W., and John Krygier. “An Introduction to Critical Cartography.” ACME: An International E-Journal for Critical Geography 4 (2006): 11–13. Chardonnet, Ewen, and Benjamin Cadon. “Semaphore.” 25 July 2011 ‹http://semaphore.blogs.com/semaphore/spectral_investigations_collective/›. Debord, Guy. “Theory of the Dérive.” 25 July 2011 ‹http://www.bopsecrets.org/SI/2.derive.htm›. Foucault, Michel. Remarks on Marx. New York: Semitotext[e], 1991.Hassan, Robert. The Chronoscopic Society: Globalization, Time and Knowledge in the Networked Economy. New York: Lang, 2003. “Historypin.” 4 Aug. 2011 ‹http://www.historypin.com/›. Hoselitz, Bert F. “A Survey of the Literature on Urbanization in India.” India’s Urban Future Ed. Roy Turner. Berkeley: U of California P, 1961. 425-43. Ibarra, Anna. “Cosmologies of the Self.” Elephant 7 (2011): 66–96. Lefebvre, Henri. The Production of Space. Oxford: Blackwell, 1991. Lovink, Geert. Dark Fibre. Cambridge: MIT Press, 2002. Manovich, Lev. The Language of New Media Cambridge: MIT Press, 2000. “Metamap.fr.” 3 Mar. 2011 ‹http://metamap.fr/›. McLuhan, Marshall, and Quentin Fiore. The Medium Is the Massage. London: Penguin, 1967. McQuire, Scott. The Media City: Media, Architecture and Urban Space. London: Sage, 2008. Pickles, John. A History of Spaces: Cartographic Reason, Mapping and the Geo-Coded World. London: Routledge, 2004. Pinder, David. “Subverting Cartography: The Situationists and Maps of the City.” Environment and Planning A 28 (1996): 405–27. “Pure Data.” 6 Aug. 2011 ‹http://puredata.info/›. Renzi, Alessandra. “The Space of Tactical Media” Digital Media and Democracy: Tactics in Hard Times. Ed. Megan Boler. Cambridge: MIT Press, 2008. 71–100. 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Released in 2012 as an Android only open-beta, Ingress is an alternate-reality game for mobile devices. Developed by Niantic Labs, a subsidiary of Google, Ingress now has 7 million users worldwide (Ingress) on both Android and Apple operating systems. Players are aligned to one of two opposing factions, the Resistance (Blue) and the Enlightened (Green). Working on behalf of their faction, individual players interact with “portals” in order to establish dominance over material environments. Portals are located at places of educational or historical value, public artworks, “hyper-local” locations, public libraries, and also places of worship (Google, “Candidate Portal Criteria”). Players take on the role of portal creators, submitting potential portals to the game developers after confirming their location in the game (Google, “New Portal Submissions”).Portals become the primary point of interaction for players, bridging the digital world of the game with the players’ surrounding material environments. Players may gain inventory by hacking portals in order to destroy and (re)claim portals. Territories are claimed by forging links between fully developed portals in order to establish control fields. Portals play an important part not only of the game but in situating the practice of play within the larger sociocultural and material framework of the urban environment. Players navigate their material environment, using portals and digital representations of such spaces alongside their existing knowledge of local environments, to engage with their immediate location as efficiently as possible. While numerous public landmarks are currently used as portals, the primary interest of this paper is the role street art plays within the game, and within the larger practice of curating the city. This paper addresses the practice of playing Ingress as a form of situated play—that is, the notion that play is underscored by sociocultural and material circumstance, while simultaneously contributing to a new shared understanding of what constitutes urban play and the conditions that underscore it. In doing so, this paper firstly addresses the notion of play as a situated practice, mobilising concepts from the field of human–computer interaction as well as cultural studies analyses of games and gaming culture. This framework is applied to the practice of playing Ingress with specific focus on the role street art has in the practice of playing. The discussion of urban play as a means of exhibiting street art is extended to discuss the cultural practice of street art itself, with both occupying the liminal space struggle over the functionality of public space. Both practices occupy this liminal space between subversive use of urban environments and a form of legitimate art—a debate which has been central to forms of urban gaming. By focusing on the role of street art in urban mobile gaming, this paper addresses the cultural function of both practices, while addressing larger questions of curatorship within the urban environment. That is: how can the practice of play, as informed by the practice of street art, be thought of as a means of curating urban spaces? This paper goes on to argue that the practice of urban play may be viewed as a form of curation via the practice of re-reading, re-mixing, and re-mediating urban environments—establishing a new shared understanding of street art, urban environments, and urban play. In this paper I argue that urban mobile games such as Ingress are best thought of as a situated practice. The idea of situated practice is drawn from the fields of game studies and human–computer interaction, and the concept of situated learning. Firstly, situated practice draws from the concept of situated gaming, a term established by Yates and Littleton to understand the cultural niches in which video gaming takes place. For Yates and Littleton, these cultural niches arise from an interaction between gaming, gamers, and gaming culture—all of which are discursively constructed and culturally relative practices. Apperley (Gaming) expands on these ideas to define situated gaming as, firstly, an inclusion of the materiality of embodied gaming experiences and, secondly, an intersection of local gaming cultures and a larger global gaming ecology. Drawing from Suchman’s concept of situated actions, such interactions with technology must be understood as contextualised within specific sociocultural and material circumstances. Dourish expands on Suchman’s work and suggests thinking less about these contexts and more on the practice of technological engagement, of making meaning out of our interaction with technology. This use of “practice” is influenced by the work of Lave and Wenger, who situate learning within a social setting, what they term a “community of practice”. In short, then, the act of playing Ingress is not only an interaction with underlying sociocultural and material circumstance which constitute the urban and play but also a process of generating a shared understanding of both the urban and play within this specific context.Fig. 1: A view of Ingress’s map showing nearby portal using navigation function.Playing with Street Art Ingress functions foremost as a form of urban play; it is a mobile game with location-aware capabilities. The practice of playing games within urban environments is often compared to historically situated forms of urban exploration, such as the Situationist International practice of dérive—a form of urban drifting that is often compared to contemporary forms of mobile-mediated urban play (de Souza e Silva and Hjorth; Flanagan; Stevens). Ingress players, in their creation and constant interaction with portals, assist in the mapping of material environments—benefiting both communities of play and the game’s designers, Niantic Labs and parent company Google. Players are able to submit portals to the game’s developers if their proposed portal meets the satisfaction of the developer’s portal requirements. Portals may be erected at “a location with a cool story, a place in history or educational value … a cool piece of art or unique architecture … a hidden gem of hyper-local spot” (Google, Candidate Portal criteria). A large number of public marks form the basis of Ingress portals, alongside plaques and prominent signage. Significantly, through their submission of portals players are participating in legitimising the history of a number of locations, ensuring up-to-date mapping of locations and landmarks. While a number of other landmarks form the basis of Ingress’s dense map of material environments, this paper is primarily concerned with the role public art plays in the practice of urban play and the curatorial possibilities of urban play. Given the portal criteria put in place by the game’s developers, Ingress pays a certain amount of attention to the historical, sociocultural, and material circumstance which constitute specific locations. As a mobile game, Ingress occupies a certain place within the history of playing in urban environments. Such historical practices have been previously discussed at length, drawing comparisons between practices of urban mobility which are themselves situated in specific historical and sociocultural movements (de Souza e Silva and Hjorth; Flanagan; Stevens). Ingress, via its inclusion of street art as a potential anchor for digital portals, draws on this historical struggle over urban environments and the inherent questions of functionality and organisation which emerge from this struggle. For Stenros, Montola, and Mäyrä (262), pervasive gaming, a form of urban mobile gaming, occupies a similar cultural space to that of street art or graffiti. They argue that both practices are located within a larger struggle over public space—a struggle grounded in urbanisation, legislation, and cultural norms. Drawing comparisons between more contemporary forms of urban mobility, such as the practice/sport of parkour or skateboarding, and the historically situated flâneur or urban stroller, the authors suggest that pervasive forms of gaming and play occupy a similar liminal space and are grounded in questions of urban functionality. Similarly, the urban space may become a gallery or canvas, a space that may be subject to curatorship that is not bound to institutional bodies. The organisation and experience of urban environments then becomes deeply involved in a contested ownership and questions of functionality that are at the heart of urban play.Within the context of Australia, the struggle over the legitimacy of both street art and video games has been subject to ongoing legal discourses. The liminal relationship between gaming and street art is perhaps best illustrated by the 2006 game Marc Ecko’s Getting Up: Contents Under Pressure. The game was granted an MA15+ rating under the existing model of video game regulation but was later refused classification due to its depiction of antisocial behaviour. The game’s rating was appealed by the Queensland Local Government Association. Apperley (“Video”) provides further details on this issue, situating the legislative decision within the historical and political context of Australia at the time, and offering insight into the means in which Getting Up represented street art as a legitimate art form. The game’s narrative, a dystopian future where graffiti is mobilised as a form of social protest against authoritarian bodies, is similar to that of the 2002 game Jet Set Radio Future. However, unlike Jet Set, Getting Up was grounded in a detailed representation of graffiti subcultures. Getting Up’s refused classification is symbolic of the later Australian landscape in which video games and street art occupy a liminal space between art form and artistic practice. The key issue, that of antisocial behaviour, links to the notion of cultural norms and the functionality, organisation, and representations within urban spaces and, moreover, within spaces of play. This struggle for legitimacy is key to understanding the relationship between street art and urban play. Despite the struggle to overcome the functionality of urban environments, street art retains levels of value as a form of cultural heritage. Both Merrill and MacDowall discuss the cultural functions of graffiti and street art, focusing on what Merrill terms a turn towards “post-graffiti”—a shift from the historical and cultural roots of street art and the practice of tagging (373). Such a turn is exemplified by an increased public interest: a legitimisation of artistic practices. Perhaps the most notable figure of such a shift is the Bristol artist Banksy, who is most famous for stencil based art. Graffiti and street art have arguably moved beyond their function as a subversive and subcultural movement, occupying a more legitimate space within urban environments and general public discourse. Within the context of Ingress, street art holds the potential to exist as a digital node of equal value to historical plaques, public libraries, or large commissioned public artworks. This shift, argues Merrill (385) allows for street art and graffiti to be viewed as a form of alternative heritage to urban environments and cultural movements within specific locations. For MacDowell (476), graffiti may be viewed as a form of folk art, subject to new-found romanticism within the context of this “post-graffiti” turn. That is, as a form of alternative heritage, graffiti and street art signify historically situated sociocultural movements and the roots of the practice itself. Games such as Ingress, then, not only legitimate street art as a form of cultural heritage via their inclusion in a non-hierarchical network alongside longstanding institutionalised buildings and artworks but also allow players to participate in an archiving of street art through interactive cartography. The practice of playing Ingress, then, is not only a means of viewing and exploring existing street art but also a direct process in achieving and curating historically situated works of art. Fig. 2: Portal information illustrating possible actions, portal level, and resonator information. Urban Play and “the New Curatorship”Having considered the role of graffiti or street art within urban play as a form of cultural heritage, as a means of linking to the roots of the practice itself and signifying a struggle over the urban environment as a space of predetermined functions, the question then is: what role does the practice of curatorship have within this mesh of interconnected practices? For Bennett and Beudel, the work of the curator, as a caretaker of cultural heritage, is often institutionalised. Within the context of the city, such institutionalisation is itself a symptom of the city as a spectacle. The authors argue that there is the potential for art to be present on a range of surfaces within the urban environment, and call into question the role of the curator within this process.As Groys notes, since Duchamp, the ontological division between the labour of making art and displaying art has collapsed. Public urban spaces, as designed spaces regulated by institutional bodies, are subject to the changing practice of audiences. That is, those who inhabit and experience the urban environment itself now have the possibility to participate or subvert traditional curatorial structures. Drawing on the etymology of the word “curate” as related to “cure,” Groys (53) suggests that the exhibition practice is thus a cure to the powerlessness of the image—a contextualisation of the image within new institutionalised frameworks for a viewing public. Who, then, in the network of relations that is urban play, constitutes this public? Ingress players function as one faction of a public who view, inhabit, move through, and experience the urban environment and any subsequent street art within. As such, they have the potential to take on a curatorial role within the organisation of street art—recontextualising such artworks and generating a new shared understanding of the sociocultural and material conditions which contribute to a broad understanding of the urban and urban play. As such, these forms of digitally mediated urban play blur boundaries between production, consumption, and play. Players, regardless of whether they had a hand in submitting portals to the game’s developers, are articulating a collectively organised database of public art. The practice of curation, as described by Potter, is essential for contemporary digital gaming practices. Players are constantly participating in transmedia landscapes, articulating their literacies through the practice of arranging, assembling, cataloguing, collecting, distributing, and disassembling digital media (Apperley “Glitch” 240; Potter 175). Within Apperley’s example of Minecraft, play unites creativity and the curatorial as one activity. Within the context of Ingress, the practice of play brings together the practice of cartography and of the curatorial. Players, as individuals and as larger localised or global factions, participate in a global mapping of material space, expanding Google’s already extensive collection of cartographic data. Players are more concerned with exploring and territorialising within the context of local spaces, at the level of the national or regional. Such practices are an articulation of localised bodies of knowledge and often of local histories and contexts. Street art forms an integral part of this sociocultural and material fabric which underscores the practice of play. Thus, urban spaces are not subject to a transformative process, but rather to a collective curatorship whereby street art, and its embedded cultural heritage, form a key foundation of how play is performed within urban environments. Through the practice of arranging, assembling, cataloguing, collecting, distributing, and disassembling, the practices of urban play may be thought of as what Potter terms “new curatorship.” Potter’s notion of curatorship is grounded in the identity formation of young children through their use of social media and articulation of digital literacy practices. With playful urban practices such as Ingress, this practice is an articulation of urban literacies: of understanding the rich cultural heritage of specific locations, and of constituting the player’s identity as tied to these specific locations. Players no longer perform merely as an audience for existing forms of urban or street art. Alongside the technological infrastructures put in place by the game’s developers, Niantic Labs and Google, players may be viewed as actively participating in a curatorial process. Players, in their articulation of complex systems and archives of street art, through the ability to constantly update, document, and construct urban narratives with street art at their core, may be viewed as co-curating urban environments. Working together with developers, street artists, and urban planners, players are constantly re-developing and sharing a new shared understanding of urban environments and the complex network of relations which constitutes the urban environment and the practice of urban play.Fig. 3: Players may vote on and contribute new photographs to maintain accurate records of art.Conclusion To play Ingress is to participate in a situated practice of play. Here, play is grounded in material and sociocultural circumstance, with street art and graffiti representing just one of many practices which inform contemporary urban play. Within the context of Ingress, street art is played with as an object within the game (a portal), but it also occupies a similar liminal space. Both urban games and street art have been subject to ongoing debates about the functionality of urban spaces and appropriate behaviour within these spaces. Ingress also taps into street art as a form of cultural heritage; it represents shifts in power dynamics, local histories, and a range of other significant local histories. To play with street art is to acknowledge its roots, both on an international and local level. With the ability to digitally archive these histories and locations, as well as engage in the cartographic practice of urban play, Ingress players can thus be thought of as curators of the city. Through the lens of new curatorship, urban play can be thought of as a form of re-reading of urban environments, as a process of exhibiting a new-found shared understanding of specific locations and public artworks. Street art and graffiti are just one of many sociocultural and material circumstances which inform the practice of urban play. During play, there is a critical reflection on the role street art has, not only during the current context of play but also more broadly as a key component of contemporary urban landscapes. Street art functions as a form of cultural heritage, as an element of urban exploration, and as a point of reference for navigating city spaces. Ingress brings together these interrelated forms of organising and sharing experiences of urban environments, through the practice of curation. Such practices are reflexively intertwined with playing urban mobile games as such Ingress. As such, the act of playing Ingress is, in essence, a form of urban literacy, as a practice of understanding the rich and complex sociocultural conditions which contribute to our understanding of urban environments. It is a practice of collecting, assembling, and exhibiting a range of locations. The practice of playing Ingress is a collective curation of city spaces on a global scale.References Apperley, Thomas. “Glitch Sorting: Minecraft, Curation, and the Post Digital.” Postdigital Aesthetics: Art, Computation and Design. Ed. David M. Berry and Michael Dieter. London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015. 232–44.———. “Video Games in Australia.” The Video Game Explosion: A History from PONG to Playstation and Beyond. Ed. Mark J.P. Wolf. USA: Greenwood P, 2008. 22–29.———. Gaming Rhythms: Play and Counterplay from the Situated to the Global. Amsterdam: Institute of Network Cultures, 2009.Bennett, Jill, and Saskia Beudel. Curating Sydney: Imagining the City’s Future. Sydney: UNSW P, 2014.De Souza e Silva, Adriana, and Larissa Hjorth. “Playful Urban Spaces: A Historical Approach to Mobile Games.” Simulation & Gaming 40.5 (2009): 602–25. Dourish, Paul. “What We Talk about When We Talk about Context.” Personal Ubiquitous Computing 8.1 (2004): 19–30.Flanagan, Mary. Critical Play: Radical Game Design. Cambridge, MA: MIT P, 2009.———. “Locating Play and Politics: Real World Games & Activism.” Leonardo Electronic Almanac 16.2–3 (2008). 5 June 2015 ‹http://www.leonardo.info/LEA/perthDAC/MFlanagan_LEA160203.pdf›.Groys, Boris. Going Public. Ed. Julieta Aranda, Brian Kuan Wood, and Anton Vidokle. Berlin: Sternberg Press, 2010.Google. “Candidate Portal Criteria.” 2015. 5 June 2015 ‹https://support.google.com/ingress/answer/3066197?hl=en›. ———. “New Portal Submissions.” 2015. 5 June 2015 ‹https://support.google.com/ingress/answer/2808254?hl=en›. Lave, Jean, and Etienne Wenger. Situated Learning: Legitimate Peripheral Participation. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1991.MacDowall, Lachlan. “In Praise of 70K: Cultural Heritage and Graffiti Style.” Continuum 20.4 (2006): 471–84.Merrill, Samuel. “Keeping It Real? Subcultural Graffiti, Street Art, Heritage and Authenticity.” International Journal of Heritage Studies 21.4 (2015): 369–89.Niantic Labs. Ingress. Android Mobile Application. 2012.Potter, John. Digital Media and Learner Identity: The New Curatorship. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012.Stenros, Jaakko, Markus Montola, and Frans Mäyrä. “Pervasive Games in Media Culture.” Pervasive Games: Theory and Design. Eds. Markus Montola, Jakko Stenros, and Annika Waern. Amsterdam: CRC P, 2009.Stevens, Quentin. The Ludic City: Exploring the Potential of Public Spaces. New York: Routledge, 2007.Suchman, Lucy. Human-Machine Reconfigurations: Plans and Situated Actions. 2nd ed. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2006.———. Plans and Situated Actions: The Problem of Human-Machine Communication. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1987.Yates, Simeon J., and Karen Littleton. “Understanding Computer Game Cultures: A Situated Approach.” Information, Communication & Society 2.4 (1999): 566–83.

The digital revolution has been characterized by the overlapping of different media technologies and platforms which reshaped both traditional forms of audiovisual consumption and older conceptions of place and space. John Agnew claims that, traditionally, the notion of place has been associated with two different meanings: ‘the first is a geometric conception of place as a mere part of space and the second is a phenomenological understanding of a place as a distinctive coming together in space’ (317). Both of the dominant meanings have been challenged by the idea that the world itself is increasingly “placeless” as space-spanning connections and flows of information, things, and people undermine the rootedness of a wide range of processes anywhere in particular (Friedman). On the one hand, by obliterating physical distance, new technologies such as the Internet and the cell phone are making places obsolete, on the other hand, the proliferation of media representations favoured by these technologies are making places more relevant than ever. These increasing mediatisation processes, in fact, generate what Urry and Larsen call ‘imaginative geographies’, namely the conflation of representational spaces and physical spaces that substitute and enhance each other in contingent ways (116). The smartphone as a new hybrid media platform that combines different technological features such as digital screens, complex software applications, cameras, tools for online communication and GPS devices, has played a crucial role in the construction of new notions of place. This article examines a specific type of phone applications: mobile, digital mapping tools that allow users to identify film-locations. In doing so it will assess how new media platforms can potentially reconfigure notions of both media consumption, and (physical and imagined) mobility. Furthermore, the analysis of digital movie maps and their mediation of film locations will shed light on the way in which contemporary leisure activities reshape the cultural, social and geographic meaning of place. Digital, Mobile Movie MapsDigital movie maps can be defined as software applications, conceived for smart phones or other mobile devices, which enable users to identify the geographical position of film locations. These applications rely on geotagging which is the process of adding geospatial metadata (usually latitudinal and longitudinal coordinates) to texts or images. From this point of view these phone apps belong to a broader category of media that Tristan Thielmann calls geomedia: converging applications of interactive, digital, mapping tools and mobile and networked media technologies. According to Hjorth, recent studies on mobile media practices show a trend toward “re-enacting the importance of place and home as both a geo-imaginary and socio-cultural precept” (Hjorth 371). In 2008 Google announced that Google Maps and Google Earth will become the basic platform for any information search. Similarly, in 2010 Flickr started georeferencing their complete image stock (Thielmann 8). Based on these current developments media scholars such as Thielmann claim that geomedia will emerge in the future as one of the most pervasive forms of digital technology (8).In my research I identified 44 phone geomedia apps that offered content variously related to film locations. In every case the main functionality of the apps consisted in matching geographic data concerning the locations with visual and written information about the corresponding film production. ‘Scene Seekers’, the first app able to match the title of a film with the GPS map of its locations, was released in 2009. Gradually, subsequent film-location apps incorporated a number of other functions including:Trivia and background information about films and locationsSubmission forms which allow users to share information about their favourite film locatiosLocation photosLinks to film downloadFilm-themed itinerariesAudio guidesOnline discussion groupsCamera/video function which allow users to take photos of the locations and share them on social mediaFilm stills and film clipsAfter identifying the movie map apps, I focused on the examination of the secondary functions they offered and categorized the applications based on both their main purpose and their main target users (as explicitly described in the app store). Four different categories of smart phone applications emerged. Apps conceived for:Business (for location scouts and producers)Entertainment (for trivia and quiz buffs)Education (for students and film history lovers)Travel (for tourists)‘Screen New South Wales Film Location Scout’, an app designed for location scouts requiring location contact information across the state of New South Wales, is an example of the first category. The app provides lists, maps and images of locations used in films shot in the region as well as contact details for local government offices. Most of these types of apps are available for free download and are commissioned by local authorities in the hope of attracting major film productions, which in turn might bring social and economic benefits to the region.A small number of the apps examined target movie fans and quiz buffs. ‘James Bond and Friends’, for example, focuses on real life locations where spy/thriller movies have been shot in London. Interactive maps and photos of the locations show their geographical position. The app also offers a wealth of trivia on spy/thriller movies and tests users’ knowledge of James Bond films with quizzes about the locations. While some of these apps provide information on how to reach particular film locations, the emphasis is on trivia and quizzes rather than travel itself.Some of the apps are explicitly conceived for educational purposes and target film students, film scholars and users interested in the history of film more broadly. The Italian Ministry for Cultural Affairs, for example, developed a number of smartphone apps designed to promote knowledge about Italian Cinema. Each application focuses on one Italian city, and was designed for users wishing to acquire more information about the movie industry in that urban area. The ‘Cinema Roma’ app, for example, contains a selection of geo-referenced film sets from a number of famous films shot in Rome. The film spots are presented via a rich collection of historical images and texts from the Italian National Photographic Archive.Finally, the majority of the apps analysed (around 60%) explicitly targets tourists. One of the most popular film-tourist applications is the ‘British Film Locations’ app with over 100,000 downloads since its launch in 2011. ‘British Film Locations’ was commissioned by VisitBritain, the British tourism agency. Visit Britain has attempted to capitalize on tourists’ enthusiasm around film blockbusters since the early 2000s as their research indicated that 40% of potential visitors would be very likely to visit the place they had seen in films or on TV (VisitBritain). British Film Locations enables users to discover and photograph the most iconic British film locations in cinematic history. Film tourists can search by film title, each film is accompanied by a detailed synopsis and list of locations so users can plan an entire British film tour. The app also allows users to take photos of the location and automatically share them on social networks such as Facebook or Twitter.Movie Maps and Film-TourismAs already mentioned, the majority of the film-location phone apps are designed for travel purposes and include functionalities that cater for the needs of the so called ‘post-tourists’. Maxine Feifer employed this term to describe the new type of tourist arising out of the shift from mass to post-Fordist consumption. The post-tourist crosses physical and virtual boundaries and shifts between experiences of everyday life, either through the actual or the simulated mobility allowed by the omnipresence of signs and electronic images in the contemporary age (Leotta). According to Campbell the post-tourist constructs his or her own tourist experience and destination, combining these into a package of overlapping and disjunctive elements: the imagined (dreams and screen cultures), the real (actual travels and guides) and the virtual (myths and internet) (203). More recently a number of scholars (Guttentag, Huang et al., Neuhofer et al.) have engaged with the application and implications of virtual reality on the planning, management and marketing of post-tourist experiences. Film-induced tourism is an expression of post-tourism. Since the mid-1990s a growing number of scholars (Riley and Van Doren, Tooke and Baker, Hudson and Ritchie, Leotta) have engaged with the study of this phenomenon, which Sue Beeton defined as “visitation to sites where movies and TV programmes have been filmed as well as to tours to production studios, including film-related theme parks” (11). Tourists’ fascination with film sets and locations is a perfect example of Baudrillard’s theory of hyperreality. Such places are simulacra which embody the blurred boundaries between reality and representation in a world in which unmediated access to reality is impossible (Baudrillard).Some scholars have focused on the role of mediated discourse in preparing both the site and the traveller for the process of tourist consumption (Friedberg, Crouch et al.). In particular, John Urry highlights the interdependence between tourism and the media with the concept of the ‘tourist gaze’. Urry argues that the gaze dominates tourism, which is primarily concerned with the commodification of images and visual consumption. According to Urry, movies and television play a crucial role in shaping the tourist gaze as the tourist compares what is gazed at with the familiar image of the object of the gaze. The tourist tries to reproduce his or her own expectations, which have been “constructed and sustained through a variety of non-tourist practices, such as film, TV, literature, records, and videos” (Urry 3). The inclusion of the camera functionality in digital movie maps such as ‘British Film Locations’ fulfils the need to actually reproduce the film images that the tourist has seen at home.Film and MapsThe convergence between film and (virtual) travel is also apparent in the prominent role that cartography plays in movies. Films often allude to maps in their opening sequences to situate their stories in time and space. In turn, the presence of detailed geographical descriptions of space at the narrative level often contributes to establish a stronger connection between film and viewers (Conley). Tom Conley notes that a number of British novels and their cinematic adaptations including Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings (LOTR) and Stevenson’s Treasure Island belong to the so called ‘cartographic fiction’ genre. In these stories, maps are deployed to undo the narrative thread and inspire alternative itineraries to the extent of legitimising an interactive relation between text and reader or viewer (Conley 225).The popularity of LOTR locations as film-tourist destinations within New Zealand may be, in part, explained by the prominence of maps as both aesthetic and narrative devices (Leotta). The authenticity of the LOTR geography (both the novel and the film trilogy) is reinforced, in fact, by the reoccurring presence of the map. Tolkien designed very detailed maps of Middle Earth that were usually published in the first pages of the books. These maps play a crucial role in the immersion into the imaginary geography of Middle Earth, which represents one of the most important pleasures of reading LOTR (Simmons). The map also features extensively in the cinematic versions of both LOTR and The Hobbit. The Fellowship of the Ring opens with several shots of a map of Middle Earth, anticipating the narrative of displacement that characterizes LOTR. Throughout the trilogy the physical dimensions of the protagonists’ journey are emphasized by the foregrounding of the landscape as a map.The prominence of maps and geographical exploration as a narrative trope in ‘cartographic fiction’ such as LOTR may be responsible for activating the ‘tourist imagination’ of film viewers (Crouch et al.). The ‘tourist imagination’ is a construct that explains the sense of global mobility engendered by the daily consumption of the media, as well as actual travel. As Crouch, Jackson and Thompson put it, “the activity of tourism itself makes sense only as an imaginative process which involves a certain comprehension of the world and enthuses a distinctive emotional engagement with it” (Crouch et al. 1).The use of movie maps, the quest for film locations in real life may reproduce some of the cognitive and emotional pleasures that were activated while watching the movie, particularly if maps, travel and geographic exploration are prominent narrative elements. Several scholars (Couldry, Hills, Beeton) consider film-induced tourism as a contemporary form of pilgrimage and movie maps are becoming an inextricable part of this media ritual. Hudson and Ritchie note that maps produced by local stakeholders to promote the locations of films such as Sideways and LOTR proved to be extremely popular among tourists (391-392). In their study about the impact of paper movie maps on tourist behaviour in the UK, O’Connor and Pratt found that movie maps are an essential component in the marketing mix of a film location. For example, the map of Pride and Prejudice Country developed by the Derbyshire and Lincolnshire tourist boards significantly helped converting potential visitors into tourists as almost two in five visitors stated it ‘definitely’ turned a possible visit into a certainty (O’Connor and Pratt).Media Consumption and PlaceDigital movie maps have the potential to further reconfigure traditional understandings of media consumption and place. According to Nana Verhoeff digital mapping tools encourage a performative cartographic practice in the sense that the dynamic map emerges and changes during the users’ journey. The various functionalities of digital movie maps favour the hybridization between film reception and space navigation as by clicking on the movie map the user could potentially watch a clip of the film, read about both the film and the location, produce his/her own images and comments of the location and share it with other fans online.Furthermore, digital movie maps facilitate and enhance what Nick Couldry, drawing upon Claude Levi Strauss, calls “parcelling out”: the marking out as significant of differences in ritual space (83). According to Couldry, media pilgrimages, the visitation of TV or film locations are rituals that are based from the outset on an act of comparison between the cinematic depiction of place and its physical counterpart. Digital movie maps have the potential to facilitate this comparison by immediately retrieving images of the location as portrayed in the film. Media locations are rife with the marking of differences between the media world and the real locations as according to Couldry some film tourists seek precisely these differences (83).The development of smart phone movie maps, may also contribute to redefine the notion of audiovisual consumption. According to Nanna Verhoeff, mobile screens of navigation fundamentally revise the spatial coordinates of previously dominant, fixed and distancing cinematic screens. One of the main differences between mobile digital screens and larger, cinematic screens is that rather than being surfaces of projection or transmission, they are interfaces of software applications that combine different technological properties of the hybrid screen device: a camera, an interface for online communication, a GPS device (Verhoeff). Because of these characteristics of hybridity and intimate closeness, mobile screens involve practices of mobile and haptic engagement that turn the classical screen as distanced window on the world, into an interactive, hybrid navigation device that repositions the viewer as central within the media world (Verhoeff).In their discussion of the relocation of cinema into the iPhone, Francesco Casetti and Sara Sampietro reached similar conclusions as they define the iPhone as both a visual device and an interactive interface that mobilizes the eye as well as the hand (Casetti and Sampietro 23). The iPhone constructs an ‘existential bubble’ in which the spectator can find refuge while remaining exposed to the surrounding environment. When the surrounding environment is the real life film location, the consumption or re-consumption of the film text allowed by the digital movie map is informed by multi-sensorial and cognitive stimuli that are drastically different from traditional viewing experiences.The increasing popularity of digital movie maps is a phenomenon that could be read in conjunction with the emergence of innovative locative media such as the Google glasses and other applications of Augmented Reality (A.R.). Current smart phones available in the market are already capable to support A.R. applications and it appears likely that this will become a standard feature of movie apps within the next few years (Sakr). Augmented reality refers to the use of data overlays on real-time camera view of a location which make possible to show virtual objects within their spatial context. The camera eye on the device registers physical objects on location, and transmits these images in real time on the screen. On-screen this image is combined with different layers of data: still image, text and moving image.In a film-tourism application of augmented reality tourists would be able to point their phone camera at the location. As the camera identifies the location images from the film will overlay the image of the ‘real location’. The user, therefore, will be able to simultaneously see and walk in both the real location and the virtual film set. The notion of A.R. is related to the haptic aspect of engagement which in turn brings together the doing, the seeing and the feeling (Verhoeff). In film theory the idea of the haptic has come to stand for an engaged look that involves, and is aware of, the body – primarily that of the viewer (Marx, Sobchack). The future convergence between cinematic and mobile technologies is likely to redefine both perspectives on haptic perception of cinema and theories of film spectatorship.The application of A.R. to digital, mobile maps of film-locations will, in part, fulfill the prophecies of René Barjavel. In 1944, before Bazin’s seminal essay on the myth of total cinema, French critic Barjavel, asserted in his book Le Cinema Total that the technological evolution of the cinematic apparatus will eventually result in the total enveloppement (envelopment or immersion) of the film-viewer. This enveloppement will be characterised by the multi-sensorial experience and the full interactivity of the spectator within the movie itself. More recently, Thielmann has claimed that geomedia such as movie maps constitute a first step toward the vision that one day it might be possible to establish 3-D spaces as a medial interface (Thielmann).Film-Tourism, Augmented Reality and digital movie maps will produce a complex immersive and inter-textual media system which is at odds with Walter Benjamin’s famous thesis on the loss of ‘aura’ in the age of mechanical reproduction (Benjamin), as one of the pleasures of film-tourism is precisely the interaction with the auratic place, the actual film location or movie set. According to Nick Couldry, film tourists are interested in the aura of the place and filming itself. The notion of aura is associated here with both the material history of the location and the authentic experience of it (104).Film locations, as mediated by digital movie maps, are places in which people have a complex sensorial, emotional, cognitive and imaginative involvement. The intricate process of remediation of the film-locations can be understood as a symptom of what Lash and Urry have called the ‘re-subjectification of space’ in which ‘locality’ is re-weighted with a more subjective and affective charge of place (56). According to Lash and Urry the aesthetic-expressive dimensions of the experience of place have become as important as the cognitive ones. By providing new layers of cultural meaning and alternative modes of affective engagement, digital movie maps will contribute to redefine both the notion of tourist destination and the construction of place identity. These processes can potentially be highly problematic as within this context the identity and meanings of place are shaped and controlled by the capital forces that finance and distribute the digital movie maps. Future critical investigations of digital cartography will need to address the way in which issues of power and control are deeply enmeshed within new tourist practices. 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Australia in Maps is a compilation of cartography taken from the collection of over 600,000 maps held at the Australian National Library. Included in this collection are military maps, coastal maps and modern-day maps for tourists. The map of the eastern coast of ‘New Holland’ drawn by James Cook when he ‘discovered’ Australia in 1770 is included. Also published is Eddie Koiki Mabo’s map drawn on a hole-punched piece of paper showing traditional land holdings in the Murray Islands in the Torres Strait. This map became a key document in Eddie Mabo’s fight for native title recognition, a fight which became the precursor to native title rights as they are known today. The inclusion of these two drawings in a collection of maps defining Australia as a country illustrates the dichotomies and contradictions which exist in a colonial nation. It is now fifteen years since the Native Title Act 1994 (Commonwealth) was developed in response to the Mabo cases in order to recognise Indigenous customary law and traditional relationships to the land over certain (restricted) parts of Australia. It is 220 years since the First Fleet arrived and Indigenous land was (and remains) illegally possessed through the process of colonisation (Moreton-Robinson Australia). Questions surrounding ‘country’ – who owns it, has rights to use it, to live on it, to develop or protect it – are still contested and contentious today. In part, this contention arises out of the radically different conceptions of ‘country’ held by, in its simplest sense, Indigenous nations and colonisers. For Indigenous Australians the land has a spiritual significance that I, as a non-Indigenous person, cannot properly understand as a result of the different ways in which relationships to land are made available. The ways of understanding the world through which my identity as a non-Indigenous person are made intelligible, by contrast, see ‘country’ as there to be ‘developed’ and exploited. Within colonial logic, discourses of development and the productive use of resources function as what Wetherell and Potter term “rhetorically self-sufficient” in that they are principles which are considered to be beyond question (177). As Vincent Tucker states; “The myth of development is elevated to the status of natural law, objective reality and evolutionary necessity. In the process all other world views are devalued and dismissed as ‘primitive’, ‘backward’, ‘irrational’ or ‘naïve’” (1). It was this precise way of thinking which was able to justify colonisation in the first place. Australia was seen as terra nullius; an empty and un-developed land not recognized as inhabited. Indigenous people were incorrectly perceived as individuals who did not use the land in an efficient manner, rather than as individual nations who engaged with the land in ways that were not intelligible to the colonial eye. This paper considers the tensions inherent in definitions of ‘country’ and the way these tensions are played out through native title claims as white, colonial Australia attempts to recognise (and limit) Indigenous rights to land. It examines such tensions as they appear in the media as an example of how native title issues are made intelligible to the non-Indigenous general public who may otherwise have little knowledge or experience of native title issues. It has been well-documented that the news media play an important role in further disseminating those discourses which dominate in a society, and therefore frequently supports the interests of those in positions of power (Fowler; Hall et. al.). As Stuart Hall argues, this means that the media often reproduces a conservative status quo which in many cases is simply reflective of the positions held by other powerful institutions in society, in this case government, and mining and other commercial interests. This has been found to be the case in past analysis of media coverage of native title, such as work completed by Meadows (which found that media coverage of native title issues focused largely on non-Indigenous perspectives) and Hartley and McKee (who found that media coverage of native title negotiations frequently focused on bureaucratic issues rather than the rights of Indigenous peoples to oppose ‘developments’ on their land). This paper aims to build on this work, and to map the way in which native title, an ongoing issue for many Indigenous groups, figures in a mainstream newspaper at a time when there has not been much mainstream public interest in the process. In order to do this, this paper considered articles which appeared in Australia’s only national newspaper – The Australian – over the six months preceding the start of July 2008. Several main themes ran through these articles, examples of which are provided in the relevant sections. These included: economic interests in native title issues, discourses of white ownership and control of the land, and rhetorical devices which reinforced the battle-like nature of native title negotiations rather than emphasised the rights of Indigenous Australians to their lands. Native Title: Some Definitions and Some Problems The concept of native title itself can be a difficult one to grasp and therefore a brief definition is called for here. According to the National Native Title Tribunal (NNTT) website (www.nntt.gov.au), native title is the recognition by Australian law that some Indigenous people have rights and interests to their land that come from their traditional laws and customs. The native title rights and interests held by particular Indigenous people will depend on both their traditional laws and customs and what interests are held by others in the area concerned. Generally speaking, native title must give way to the rights held by others. Native title is therefore recognised as existing on the basis of certain laws and customs which have been maintained over an area of land despite the disruption caused by colonisation. As such, if native title is to be recognised over an area of country, Indigenous communities have to argue that their cultures and connection with the land have survived colonisation. As the Maori Land Court Chief Judge Joe Williams argues: In Australia the surviving title approach […] requires the Indigenous community to prove in a court or tribunal that colonisation caused them no material injury. This is necessary because, the greater the injury, the smaller the surviving bundle of rights. Communities who were forced off their land lose it. Those whose traditions and languages were beaten out of them at state sponsored mission schools lose all of the resources owned within the matrix of that language and those traditions. This is a perverse result. In reality, of course, colonisation was the greatest calamity in the history of these people on this land. Surviving title asks aboriginal people to pretend that it was not. To prove in court that colonisation caused them no material injury. Communities who were forced off their land are the same communities who are more likely to lose it. As found in previous research (Meadows), these inherent difficulties of the native title process were widely overlooked in recent media reports of native title issues published in The Australian. Due to recent suggestions made by Indigenous Affairs Minister Jenny Macklin for changes to be made to the native title system, The Australian did include reports on the need to ensure that traditional owners share the economic profits of the mining boom. This was seen in an article by Karvelas and Murphy entitled “Labor to Overhaul Native Title Law”. The article states that: Fifteen years after the passage of the historic Mabo legislation, the Rudd Government has flagged sweeping changes to native title to ensure the benefits of the mining boom flow to Aboriginal communities and are not locked up in trusts or frittered away. Indigenous Affairs Minister Jenny Macklin, delivering the third annual Eddie Mabo Lecture in Townsville, said yesterday that native title legislation was too complex and had failed to deliver money to remote Aboriginal communities, despite lucrative agreements with mining companies. (1) Whilst this passage appears supportive of Indigenous Australians in that it argues for their right to share in economic gains made through ‘developments’ on their country, the use of phrases such as ‘frittered away’ imply that Indigenous Australians have made poor use of their ‘lucrative agreements’, and therefore require further intervention in their lives in order to better manage their financial situations. Such an argument further implies that the fact that many remote Indigenous communities continue to live in poverty is the fault of Indigenous Australians’ mismanagement of funds from native title agreements rather than from governmental neglect, thereby locating the blame once more in the hands of Indigenous people rather than in a colonial system of dispossession and regulation. Whilst the extract does continue to state that native title legislation is too complex and has ‘failed to deliver money to remote Aboriginal communities’, the article does not go on to consider other areas in which native title is failing Indigenous people, such as reporting the protection of sacred and ceremonial sites, and provisions for Indigenous peoples to be consulted about developments on their land to which they may be opposed. Whilst native title agreements with companies may contain provisions for these issues, it is rare that there is any regulation for whether or not these provisions are met after an agreement is made (Faircheallaigh). These issues almost never appeared in the media which instead focused on the economic benefits (or lack thereof) stemming from the land rather than the sovereign rights of traditional owners to their country. There are many other difficulties inherent in the native title legislation for Indigenous peoples. It is worth discussing some of these difficulties as they provide an image of the ways in which ‘country’ is conceived of at the intersection of a Western legal system attempting to encompass Indigenous relations to land. The first of these difficulties relates to the way in which Indigenous people are required to delineate the boundaries of the country which they are claiming. Applications for native title over an area of land require strict outlining of boundaries for land under consideration, in accordance with a Western system of mapping country. The creation of such boundaries requires Indigenous peoples to define their country in Western terms rather than Indigenous ones, and in many cases proves quite difficult as areas of traditional lands may be unavailable to claim (Neate). Such differences in understandings of country mean that “for Indigenous peoples, the recognition of their indigenous title, should it be afforded, may bear little resemblance to, or reflect minimally on, their own conceptualisation of their relations to country” (Glaskin 67). Instead, existing as it does within a Western legal system and subject to Western determinations, native title forces Indigenous people to define themselves and their land within white conceptions of country (Moreton-Robinson Possessive). In fact, the entire concept of native title has been criticized by many Indigenous commentators as a denial of Indigenous sovereignty over the land, with the result of the Mabo case meaning that “Indigenous people did not lose their native title rights but were stripped of their sovereign rights to manage their own affairs, to live according to their own laws, and to own and control the resources on their lands” (Falk and Martin 38). As such, Falk and Martin argue that The Native Title Act amounts to a complete denial of Aboriginal sovereignty so that Indigenous people are forced to live under a colonial regime which is able to control and regulate their lives and access to country. This is commented upon by Aileen Moreton-Robinson, who writes that: What Indigenous people have been given, by way of white benevolence, is a white-constructed from of ‘Indigenous’ proprietary rights that are not epistemologically and ontologically grounded in Indigenous conceptions of sovereignty. Indigenous land ownership, under these legislative regimes, amounts to little more than a mode of land tenure that enables a circumscribed form of autonomy and governance with minimum control and ownership of resources, on or below the ground, thus entrenching economic dependence on the nation state. (Moreton-Robinson Sovereign Subjects 4) The native title laws in place in Australia restrict Indigenous peoples to existing within white frameworks of knowledge. Within the space of The Native Title Act there is no room for recognition of Indigenous sovereignty whereby Indigenous peoples can make decisions for themselves and control their own lands (Falk and Martin). These tensions within definitions of ‘country’ and sovereignty over land were reflected in the media articles examined, primarily in terms of the way in which ‘country’ was related to and used. This was evident in an article entitled “An Economic Vision” with a tag-line “Native Title Reforms offer Communities a Fresh Start”: Central to such a success story is the determination of indigenous people to help themselves. Such a business-like, forward-thinking approach is also evident in Kimberley Land Council executive director Wayne Bergmann's negotiations with some of the world's biggest resource companies […] With at least 45 per cent of Kimberley land subject to native title, Mr Bergmann, a qualified lawyer, is acutely aware of the royalties and employment potential. Communities are also benefitting from the largesse of Australia’s richest man, miner Andrew “Twiggy” Forrest, whose job training courses and other initiatives are designed to help the local people, in his words, become “wonderful participating Australians.” (15) Again, this article focuses on the economic benefits to be made from native title agreements with mining companies rather than other concerns with the use of Indigenous areas of country. The use of the quote from Forrest serves to imply that Indigenous peoples are not “wonderful participating Australians” unless they are able to contribute in an economic sense, and overlooks many contributions made by Indigenous peoples in other areas such as environmental protection. Such definitions also measure ‘success’ in Western terms rather than Indigenous ones and force Indigenous peoples into a relationship to country based on Western notions of resource extraction and profit rather than Indigenous notions of custodianship and sustainability. This construction of Indigenous economic involvement as only rendered valid on particular terms echoes findings from previous work on constructions of Indigenous people in the media, such as that by LeCouteur, Rapley and Augoustinos. Theorising ‘Country’ The examples provided above illustrate the fact that the rhetoric and dichotomies of ‘country’ are at the very heart of the native title process. The process of recognising Indigenous rights to land through native title invites the question of how ‘country’ is conceived in the first place. Goodall writes that there are tensions within definitions of ‘country’ which indicate the ongoing presence of Indigenous people’s connections to their land despite colonisation. She writes that the word ‘country’: may seem a self-evident description of rural economy and society, with associations of middle-class gentility as well as being the antonym of the city. Yet in Australia there is another dimension altogether. Aboriginal land-owners traditionally identify themselves by the name of the land for which they were the custodians. These lands are often called, in today’s Aboriginal English, their ‘country’. This gives the word a tense and resonating echo each time it is used to describe rural-settler society and land. (162) Yet the distinctions usually drawn between those defined as ‘country’ people or ‘locals’ and the traditional Indigenous people of the area suggest that, as Schlunke states, in many cases Indigenous people are “too local to be ‘local’” (43). In other words, if white belonging and rights to an area of country are to be normalised, the prior claims of traditional owners are not able to be considered. As such, Indigenous belonging becomes too confronting as it disrupts the ways in which other ‘country’ people relate to their land as legitimately theirs. In the media, constructions of ‘country’ frequently fell within a colonial definition of country which overlooked Indigenous peoples. In many of these articles land was normatively constructed as belonging to the crown or the state. This was evidenced in phrases such as, “The proceedings [of the Noongar native title claim over the South Western corner of Australia] have been watched closely by other states in the expectation they might encounter similar claims over their capital cities” (Buckley-Carr 2). Use of the word their implies that the states (which are divisions of land created by colonisation) have prior claim to ‘their’ capital cities and that they rightfully belong to the government rather than to traditional owners. Such definitions of ‘country’ reflect European rather than Indigenous notions of boundaries and possession. This is also reflected in media reports of native title in the widespread use of European names for areas of land and landmarks as opposed to their traditional Indigenous names. When the media reported on a native title claim over an area of land the European name for the country was used rather than, for example, the Indigenous name followed by a geographical description of where that land is situated. Customs such as this reflect a country which is still bound up in European definitions of land rather than Indigenous ones (Goodall 167; Schlunke 47-48), and also indicate that the media is reporting for a white audience rather than for an Indigenous one whom it would affect the most. Native title debates have also “shown the depth of belief within much of rural and regional Australia that rural space is most rightfully agricultural space” (Lockie 27). This construction of rural Australia is reflective of the broader national imagining of the country as a nation (Anderson), in which Australia is considered rich in resources from which to derive profit. Within these discourses the future of the nation is seen as lying in the ‘development’ of natural resources. As such, native title agreements with industry have often been depicted in the media as obstacles to be overcome by companies rather than a way of allowing Indigenous people control over their own lands. This often appears in the media in the form of metaphors of ‘war’ for agreements for use of Indigenous land, such as development being “frustrated” by native title (Bromby) and companies being “embattled” by native title issues (Wilson). Such metaphors illustrate the adversarial nature of native title claims both for recognition of the land in the first place and often in subsequent dealings with resource companies. This was also seen in reports of company progress which would include native title claims in a list of other factors affecting stock prices (such as weak drilling results and the price of metals), as if Indigenous claims to land were just another hurdle to profit-making (“Pilbara Lures”). Conclusion As far as the native title process is concerned, the answers to the questions considered at the start of this paper remain within Western definitions. Native title exists firmly within a Western system of law which requires Indigenous people to define and depict their land within non-Indigenous definitions and understandings of ‘country’. These debates are also frequently played out in the media in ways which reflect colonial values of using and harvesting country rather than Indigenous ones of protecting it. The media rarely consider the complexities of a system which requires Indigenous peoples to conceive of their land through boundaries and definitions not congruent with their own understandings. The issues surrounding native title draw attention to the need for alternative definitions of ‘country’ to enter the mainstream Australian consciousness. These need to encompass Indigenous understandings of ‘country’ and to acknowledge the violence of Australia’s colonial history. Similarly, the concept of native title needs to reflect Indigenous notions of country and allow traditional owners to define their land for themselves. In order to achieve these goals and overcome some of the obstacles to recognising Indigenous sovereignty over Australia the media needs to play a part in reorienting concepts of country from only those definitions which fit within a white framework of experiencing the world and prioritise Indigenous relations and experiences of country. If discourses of resource extraction were replaced with discourses of sustainability, if discourses of economic gains were replaced with respect for the land, and if discourses of white control over Indigenous lives in the form of native title reform were replaced with discourses of Indigenous sovereignty, then perhaps some ground could be made to creating an Australia which is not still in the process of colonising and denying the rights of its First Nations peoples. The tensions which exist in definitions and understandings of ‘country’ echo the tensions which exist in Australia’s historical narratives and memories. The denied knowledge of the violence of colonisation and the rights of Indigenous peoples to remain on their land all haunt a native title system which requires Indigenous Australians to minimise the effect this violence had on their lives, their families and communities and their values and customs. As Katrina Schlunke writes when she confronts the realisation that her family’s land could be the same land on which Indigenous people were massacred: “The irony of fears of losing one’s backyard to a Native Title claim are achingly rich. Isn’t something already lost to the idea of ‘Freehold Title’ when you live over unremembered graves? What is free? What are you to hold?” (151). If the rights of Indigenous Australians to their country are truly to be recognised, mainstream Australia needs to seriously consider such questions and whether or not the concept of ‘native title’ as it exists today is able to answer them. Acknowledgments I would like to thank Damien Riggs and Andrew Gorman-Murray for all their help and support with this paper, and Braden Schiller for his encouragement and help with proof-reading. I would also like to thank the anonymous referees for their insightful comments. References Anderson, Benedict. Imagined Communities. 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Goodall, Heather. “Telling Country: Memory, Modernity and Narratives in Rural Australia.” History Workshop Journal 47 (1999): 161-190. Hall, Stuart, Critcher, C., Jefferson, T., Clarke, J. and Roberts, B. Policing the Crisis: Mugging, the state, and Law and Order. London: Macmillan, 1978. Hartley, John, and Alan McKee. The Indigenous Public Sphere: The Reporting and Reception of Aboriginal Issues in the Australian Media. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2000. Karvelas, Patricia and Padraic Murphy. “Labor to Overhaul Native Title Laws.” The Australian, 22 May 2008: 1. LeCouteur, Amanda, Mark Rapley and Martha Augoustinos. “This Very Difficult Debate about Wik: Stake, Voice and the Management of Category Membership in Race Politics.” British Journal of Social Psychology 40 (2001): 35-57. Lockie, Stewart. “Crisis and Conflict: Shifting Discourses of Rural and Regional Australia.” Land of Discontent: The Dynamics of Change in Rural and Regional Australia. Ed. Bill Pritchard and Phil McManus. 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As I round the corner from Church Street onto Vesey, I am abruptly met with the façade of St. Paul’s Chapel and by the sudden memory of two things, both of which have not yet happened. I think about how, in a couple of decades, the area surrounding me will be burnt to the ground. I also recall how, just after the turn of the twenty-first century, the area will again crumble onto itself. It is 1759, and I—via my avatar—am wandering through downtown New York City in the videogame space of Assassin’s Creed: Rogue (AC:R). These spatial and temporal memories stem from the fact that I have previously (that is, earlier in my life) played an AC game set in New York City during the War for Independence (later in history), wherein the city’s lower west side burns at the hands of the British. Years before that (in my biographical timeline, though much later in history) I watched from twenty-something blocks north of here as flames erupted from the twin towers of the World Trade Center. Complicating the situation further, Michel de Certeau strolls with me in spirit, pondering observations he will make from almost this exact location (though roughly 1,100 feet higher up) 220 years from now, around the time I am being born. Perhaps the oddest aspect of this convoluted and temporally layered experience is the fact that I am not actually at the corner of Church and Vesey in 1759 at all, but rather on a couch, in Virginia, now. This particular type of sudden arrival at a space is only possible when it is not planned. Prior to the moment described above, I had finished a “mission” in the game that involved my coming to the city, so I decided I would just walk around a bit in the newly discovered digital New York of 1759. I wanted to take it in. I wanted to wander. Truly Being-in-a-place means attending to the interconnected Being-ness and Being-with-ness of all of the things that make up that place (Heidegger; Haraway). Conversely, to travel to or through a place entails a type of focused directionality toward a place that you are not currently Being in. Wandering, however, demands eschewing both, neither driven by an incessant goal, nor stuck in place by introspective ruminations. Instead, wandering is perhaps best described as a sort of mobile openness. A wanderer is not quite Benjamin’s flâneur, characterised by an “idle yet assertive negotiation of the street” (Coates 28), but also, I would argue, not quite de Certeau’s “Wandersmünner, whose bodies follow the thicks and thins of an urban ‘text’ they write without being able to read it” (de Certeau 93). Wandering requires a concerted effort at non-intentionality. That description may seem to fold in on itself, to be sure, but as the spaces around us are increasingly “canalized” (Rabinow and Foucault) and designed with specific trajectories and narratives in mind, inaction leads to the unconscious enacting of an externally derived intention; whereas any attempt to subvert that design is itself a wholly intentional act. This is why wandering is so difficult. It requires shedding layers. It takes practice, like meditation.In what follows, I will explore the possibility of revelatory moments enabled by the shedding of these layers of intention through my own experience in digital space (maybe the most designed and canalized spaces we inhabit). I come to recognise, as I disavow the designed narrative of game space, that it takes on other meanings, becomes another space. I find myself Being-there in a way that transcends the digital as we understand it, experiencing space that reaches into the past and future, into memory and fiction. Indeed, wandering is liminal, betwixt fixed points, spaces, and times, and the text you are reading will wander in this fashion—between the digital and the physical, between memory and experience, and among multiple pasts and the present—to arrive at a multilayered subjective sense of space, a palimpsest of placemaking.Before charging fully into digital time travel, however, we must attend to the business of context. In this case, this means addressing why I am talking about videogame space in Certaudian terms. Beginning as early as 1995, videogame theorists have employed de Certeau’s notion of “spatial stories” in their assertions that games allow players to construct the game’s narrative by travelling through and “colonizing” the space (Fuller and Jenkins). Most of the scholarship involving de Certeau and videogames, however, has been relegated to the concepts of “map/tour” in looking at digital embodiment within game space as experiential representatives of the place/space binary. Maps verbalise spatial experience in place terms, such as “it’s at the corner of this and that street”, whereas tours express the same in terms of movement through space, as in “turn right at the red house”. Videogames complicate this because “mapping is combined with touring when moving through the game-space” (Lammes).In Games as Inhabited Spaces, Bernadette Flynn moves beyond the map/tour dichotomy to argue that spatial theories can approach videogaming in a way no other viewpoint can, because neither narrative nor mechanics of play can speak to the “space” of a game. Thus, Flynn’s work is “focused on completely reconceiving gameplay as fundamentally configured with spatial practice” (59) through de Certeau’s concepts of “strategic” and “tactical” spatial use. Flynn explains:The ability to forge personal directions from a closed simulation links to de Certeau’s notion of tactics, where users can create their own trajectories from the formal organizations of space. For de Certeau, tactics are related to how people individualise trajectories of movement to create meaning and transformations of space. Strategies on the other hand, are more akin to the game designer’s particular matrix of formal structures, arrangements of time and space which operate to control and constrain gameplay. (59)Flynn takes much of her reading of de Certeau from Lev Manovich, who argues that a game designer “uses strategies to impose a particular matrix of space, time, experience, and meaning on his viewers; they, in turn, use ‘tactics’ to create their own trajectories […] within this matrix” (267). Manovich believes de Certeau’s theories offer a salient model for thinking about “the ways in which computer users navigate through computer spaces they did not design” (267). In Flynn’s and Manovich’s estimation, simply moving through digital space is a tactic, a subversion of its strategic and linear design.The views of game space as tactical have historically (and paradoxically) treated the subject of videogames from a strategic perspective, as a configurable space to be “navigated through”, as a way of attaining a certain goal. Dan Golding takes up this problem, distancing our engagement from the design and calling for a de Certeaudian treatment of videogame space “from below”, where “the spatial diegesis of the videogame is affordance based and constituted by the skills of the player”, including those accrued outside the game space (Golding 118). Similarly, Darshana Jayemanne adds a temporal element with the idea that these spatial constructions are happening alongside a “complexity” and “proliferation of temporal schemes” (Jayemanne 1, 4; see also Nikolchina). Building from Golding and Jayemanne, I illustrate here a space wherein the player, not the game, is at the fulcrum of both spatial and temporal complexity, by adding the notion that—along with skill and experience—players bring space and time with them into the game.Viewed with the above understanding of strategies, tactics, skill, and temporality, the act of wandering in a videogame seems inherently subversive: on one hand, by undergoing a destination-less exploration of game space, I am rejecting the game’s spatial narrative trajectory; on the other, I am eschewing both skill accrual and temporal insistence to attempt a sense of pure Being-in-the-game. Such rebellious freedom, however, is part of the design of this particular game space. AC:R is a “sand box” game, which means it involves a large environment that can be traversed in a non-linear fashion, allowing, supposedly, for more freedom and exploration. Indeed, much of the gameplay involves slowly making more space available for investigation in an outward—rather than unidirectional—course. A player opens up these new spaces by “synchronising a viewpoint”, which can only be done by climbing to the top of specific landmarks. One of the fundamental elements of the AC franchise is an acrobatic, free-running, parkour style of engagement with a player’s surroundings, “where practitioners weave through urban environments, hopping over barricades, debris, and other obstacles” (Laviolette 242), climbing walls and traversing rooftops in a way unthinkable (and probably illegal) in our everyday lives. People scaling buildings in major metropolitan areas outside of videogame space tend to get arrested, if they survive the climb. Possibly, these renegade climbers are seeking what de Certeau describes as the “voluptuous pleasure […] of ‘seeing the whole,’ of looking down on, totalizing the most immoderate of human texts” (92)—what he experienced, looking down from the top of the World Trade Center in the late 1970s.***On digital ground level, back in 1759, I look up to the top of St. Paul’s bell tower and crave that pleasure, so I climb. As I make my way up, Non-Player Characters (NPCs)—the townspeople and trader avatars who make up the interactive human scenery of the game—shout things such as “You’ll hurt yourself” and “I say! What on earth is he doing?” This is the game’s way of convincing me that I am enacting agency and writing my own spatial story. I seem to be deploying “tricky and stubborn procedures that elude discipline without being outside the field in which it is exercised” (de Certeau 96), when I am actually following the program the way I am supposed to. If I were not meant to climb the tower, I simply would not be able to. The fact that game developers go to the extent of recording dialogue to shout at me when I do this proves that they expect my transgression. This is part of the game’s “semi-social system”: a collection of in-game social norms that—to an extent—reflect the cultural understandings of outside non-digital society (Atkinson and Willis). These norms are enforced through social pressures and expectations in the game such that “these relative imperatives and influences, appearing to present players with ‘unlimited’ choices, [frame] them within the parameters of synthetic worlds whose social structure and assumptions are distinctly skewed in particular ways” (408). By using these semi-social systems, games communicate to players that performing a particular act is seen as wrong or scandalous by the in-game society (and therefore subversive), even when the action is necessary for the continuation of the spatial story.When I reach the top of the bell tower, I am able to “synchronise the viewpoint”—that is, unlock the map of this area of the city. Previously, I did not have access to an overhead view of the area, but now that I have indulged in de Certeau’s pleasure of “seeing the whole”, I can see not only the tactical view from the street, but also the strategic bird’s-eye view from above. From the top, looking out over the city—now The City, a conceivable whole rather than a collection of streets—it is difficult to picture the neighbourhood engulfed in flames. The stair-step Dutch-inspired rooflines still recall the very recent change from New Amsterdam to New York, but in thirty years’ time, they will all be torched and rebuilt, replaced with colonial Tudor boxes. I imagine myself as an eighteenth-century de Certeau, surveying pre-ruination New York City. I wonder how his thoughts would have changed if his viewpoint were coloured with knowledge of the future. Standing atop the very symbol of global power and wealth—a duo-lith that would exist for less than three decades—would his pleasure have been less “voluptuous”? While de Certeau considers the viewer from above like Icarus, whose “elevation transfigures him into a voyeur” (92), I identify more with Daedalus, preoccupied with impending disaster. I swan-dive from the tower into a hay cart, returning to the bustle of the street below.As I wander amongst the people of digital 1759 New York, the game continuously makes phatic advances at me. I bump into others on the street and they drop boxes they are carrying, or stumble to the side. Partial overheard conversations going on between townspeople—“… what with all these new taxes …”, “… but we’ve got a fine regiment here …”—both underscore the historical context of the game and imply that this is a world that exists even when I am not there. These characters and their conversations are as much a part of the strategic makeup of the city as the buildings are. They are the text, not the writers nor the readers. I am the only writer of this text, but I am merely transcribing a pre-programmed narrative. So, I am not an author, but rather a stenographer. For this short moment, though, I am allowed by the game to believe that I am making the choice not to transcribe; there are missions to complete, and I am ignoring them. I am taking in the city, forgetting—just as the design intends—that I am the only one here, the only person in the entire world, indeed, the person for whom this world exists.While wandering, I also experience conflicts and mergers between what Maurice Halbwachs has called historical, autobiographical, and collective memory types: respectively, these are memories created according to historical record, through one’s own life experience, and by the way a society tends to culturally frame and recall “important” events. De Certeau describes a memorable place as a “palimpsest, [where] subjectivity is already linked to the absence that structures it as existence” (109). Wandering through AC:R’s virtual representation of 1759 downtown New York, I am experiencing this palimpsest in multiple layers, activating my Halbwachsian memories and influencing one another in the creation of my subjectivity. This is the “absence” de Certeau speaks of. My visions of Revolutionary New York ablaze tug at me from beneath a veneer of peaceful Dutch architecture: two warring historical memory constructs. Simultaneously, this old world is painted on top of my autobiographical memories as a New Yorker for thirteen years, loudly ordering corned beef with Russian dressing at the deli that will be on this corner. Somewhere sandwiched between these layers hides a portrait of September 11th, 2001, painted either by collective memory or autobiographical memory, or, more likely, a collage of both. A plane entering a building. Fire. Seen by my eyes, and then re-seen countless times through the same televised imagery that the rest of the world outside our small downtown village saw it. Which images are from media, and which from memory?Above, as if presiding over the scene, Michel de Certeau hangs in the air at the collision site, suspended a 1000 feet above the North Pool of the 9/11 Memorial, rapt in “voluptuous pleasure”. And below, amid the colonists in their tricorns and waistcoats, people in grey ash-covered suits—ambulatory statues; golems—slowly and silently march ever uptown-wards. Dutch and Tudor town homes stretch skyward and transform into art-deco and glass monoliths. These multiform strata, like so many superimposed transparent maps, ground me in the idea of New York, creating the “fragmentary and inward-turning histories” (de Certeau 108) that give place to my subjectivity, allowing me to Be-there—even though, technically, I am not.My conscious decision to ignore the game’s narrative and wander has made this moment possible. While I understand that this is entirely part of the intended gameplay, I also know that the design cannot possibly account for the particular way in which I experience the space. And this is the fundamental point I am asserting here: that—along with the strategies and temporal complexities of the design and the tactics and skills of those on the ground—we bring into digital space our own temporal and experiential constructions that allow us to Be-in-the-game in ways not anticipated by its strategic design. Non-digital virtuality—in the tangled forms of autobiographical, historic, and collective memory—reaches into digital space, transforming the experience. Further, this changed game-experience becomes a part of my autobiographical “prosthetic memory” that I carry with me (Landsberg). When I visit New York in the future, and I inevitably find myself abruptly met with the façade of St Paul’s Chapel as I round the corner of Church Street and Vesey, I will be brought back to this moment. Will I continue to wander, or will I—if just for a second—entertain the urge to climb?***After the recent near destruction by fire of Notre-Dame, a different game in the AC franchise was offered as a free download, because it is set in revolutionary Paris and includes a very detailed and interactive version of the cathedral. Perhaps right now, on sundry couches in various geographical locations, people are wandering there: strolling along the Siene, re-experiencing time they once spent there; overhearing tense conversations about regime change along the Champs-Élysées that sound disturbingly familiar; or scaling the bell tower of the Notre-Dame Cathedral itself—site of revolution, desecration, destruction, and future rebuilding—to reach the pleasure of seeing the strategic whole at the top. 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